Justice
by movingstaircase
Summary: Sentenced to a six month banishment to the Muggle world, Draco Malfoy has no friends, no family and certainly no magic. Just one Hermione Granger to withhold his sanity afloat. Or not. Alas, their contempt for one another runs rather deep.
1. Guilt

**Okay, so this is my first story. And by story, I mean not a one-shot. The first chapter doesn't make it sound so great, but I promise that it will get better! The rating _may_ change in the future, but I haven't decided yet. We'll just see how it goes. As always, reviews are greatly appreciated. Let me know how it is and thank you for reading!**

**P.S. Unfortunately, I do not own Harry Potter or the characters in it. That all belongs to JK Rowling. **

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><p>9th May 1998<p>

It had been exactly seven days since the Battle of Hogwarts. Exactly one week since Harry Potter had courageously triumphed over the Dark Lord and his followers once and for all. At the news of Voldemort's defeat, the immediate reaction of wizarding Britain was to celebrate relentlessly until you could not remember your own name, let alone why you were celebrating in the first place. And the majority of the wizarding community did just that. Throughout the country, in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade alike, the streets bristled with the long awaited relief they had been craving since the rise of He Who Must Not Be Named all those years ago.

After a week, now that the initial excitement had died away, everybody began to busy themselves with rebuilding their broken society. Although Voldemort had perished and his followers quickly caught and captured, they had not failed to leave death and destruction in their wake. With the Minister for Magic dead, Kingsley Shacklebolt had gladly stepped up to the job and was openly welcomed by the survivors of the terrible war. Within three days of the Battle, the British Ministry had been brought back to life. Out was the sickeningly degrading Magic is Might monument, and in was the replacement Fountain of Magical Brethren, just as everyone remembered. It was unbeknownst to Hermione Granger what magic had been used, but the walls alone seemed to gleam with renewed freedom, every crack in the floorboards seemed to smile up at her as she walked through the Atrium towards the Minister for Magic's office.

Now, Hermione Granger had always prided herself in the fact that she was unlike most of her peers. Throughout her Hogwarts years she had sworn to leave school with the intention to go off and travel the world, alone or with friends, it did not matter. She wanted to be free of buildings and structures and schedules. What she most desired was to expand on S.P.E.W., to save house elves lives and give them freedom. To make the wizarding world a better place for them to live, to co-exist with magical folk such as herself. So, how did Hermione Granger, unsung heroine of the second wizarding war, end up walking through the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic just seven days after the war?

There were rumours, of course, that Hermione Granger had simply followed the lead of her best friends into a Ministry based career. Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley were, as was to be expected after the events of the war, famous amongst the magical community, more so now than ever before in Harry's case. Mere hours after the climatic showdown between Harry and Voldemort, he and Ron had been directly offered places at the Ministry as Auror's, no training required, by Shacklebolt himself. They had both accepted without a moments hesitation. And there had been offers for Hermione too, ones that she had declined and shook her head politely at, wishing her life to take a different path than that of her friends and comrades.

However, one week after the war had ended, Hermione Granger could be found knocking on the door and waiting patiently outside the Minister for Magic's office with her head held high as she forced herself to ignore the questioning stares; not because of her peers, but because of guilt. Hermione felt guilty. She had seen the state that wizarding Britain had been left in following Voldemort's reign and, forgetting any ideas she may have had of packing a bag and leaving the country, she wanted to help. It was as simple as that. Hermione Granger wanted to help.

She didn't have to wait long until the polished, oak in front of her opened up to the weary, yet friendly looking face of Kingsley Shacklebolt. She had made an appointment to see him some days ago, as he was quite obviously a very busy man given the current situation, with no time for drop-by-stops and dilly-dallying conversation. He smiled kindly at her.

"Miss Granger," He stepped back to allow Hermione to enter his office, offering her a seat at his desk, himself taking the one opposite. "Always a pleasure."

Hermione had never seen the Minister for Magic's office for herself, though she had heard stories of its grandeur. It certainly lived up to its reputation. The room was circular, much like the headmaster's office at Hogwarts, and filled with every magical artefact she could possibly imagine. The walls were lined with endless bookshelves that she yearned to walk over to and touch. There were no windows, but the room seemed to radiate its own sunlight. It was warm and smelt of pine trees and oranges, dust and old books and Hermione was sure that she could spend the rest of her life there quite happily. Shaking herself out of her dazed state, she turned to the man looking at her with a curious gaze.

"Minister-"

"Please, call me Kingsley. I think it's a little late for formalities, don't you?" He chuckled.

"Of course." Hermione smiled. "Kingsley. I'm here to inquire about the offer you made me prior to our last meeting. To help out here at the Ministry. I assure you, I'm perfectly capable of any jobs you may want me to take up and you will not be disappointed in me. I-I just want to help... In any way that I can, I suppose."

Shacklebolt leaned forwards, resting his elbows upon his desk and Hermione wasn't sure whether to recoil or feel beckoned by the mischievous twinkle in his eyes. He reminded her ever so much of the late Albus Dumbledore. Hermione began to fidget nervously, wringing her hands and taking her bottom lip between her teeth as he seemed to contemplate her words.

"I'm extremely grateful for any help I am given here at the Ministry, Miss Granger. As I am sure you are well aware, we are all very busy attempting to rebuild the Ministry of Magic after the corruption that Voldemort has caused. However, I'm afraid the post I offered to you at our last meeting has been filled by none other than a Miss Padma Patil."

His lips seem to twitch into something akin to a smirk as he saw the disappointment etched within the young girl's features.

"Although, there is an opening in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement which I desperately need to fill."

At once, Hermione's face lit up eagerly as she beamed at the man across from her in thankfulness.

"Anything. I'll take anything that could help you."

"Excellent!" Shacklebolt clapped his hands together once, then stood from the desk to grab a rather thick file from the shelf placed directly behind his seat. "It can prove to be a rather difficult career, working in Magical Law Enforcement, but I have no doubts that you will flourish, my dear.

"Now, the opening I have is for a probation officer of sorts. You will be assigned persons of which you will observe and record as evidence that they are carrying through their given sentence. You may be asked to spend a rather long period of time in the presence of such a person to assure the Ministry that they are abiding their sentence fully. It consists of a lot of documentation and many hours labour, but the salary is good."

"I'll take it, right now. Just tell me where to sign and I'll do it." Hermione nodded in encouragement.

Shacklebolt eyed her curiously. "My dear, do you not wish to read the file before proceeding? I can guarantee you that there is a lot more to this job than meets the keenest of eyes, such as yours. I can allow you some time to get your priorities in order and prepare yourself to start at a later date, if you so desire."

"I want to do this, I'm sure. I'm absolutely positive. I'll do anything you want me to do and you know that I'm capable. I'll start as soon as I possibly can. I just want to help. I can't even begin to imagine the stress that you're enduring yourself given the circumstances." Hermione reassured.

"Well, if you're absolutely sure, then I can have you start by tomorrow morning. There are a few papers to sign, as is to be expected from these things. But, if you're keen, I see no problems in having you sat behind a desk by 9 o'clock tomorrow."

Eager as she was, within the hour Hermione had signed the necessary documents and they were safely filed away. Hermione Granger was working for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the Ministry of Magic, 9am – 5pm, Monday to Friday. Hermione was sure that it was only temporary, just until the worse of the aftermath was over and the wizarding world became settled once again, then she could pack up her bags and travel the world if she really wanted to. For now, however, she was to stay here with her friends and the people she cared about and help out in the best way she could.

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><p>10th May 1998<p>

The next morning Hermione woke early. Throwing the white covers from her body, she jumped out of bed and made her way to the kitchenette in the corner of the living area. Her flat was cramped and laden with cardboard boxes as she had only moved in two days previous.

Her flat was another, albeit minor, reason as to why she was now employed at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the Ministry. Her parents were currently in Australia, completely oblivious as to their daughter's existence and Hermione presumed they had sold her childhood home the day they had left. Not wanting to intrude on the Burrow – Mrs Weasley had, without a moments hesitation, offered her a home with the Weasley's – Hermione had taken it upon herself to find a home. The flat was small, with only one bedroom and the rent was as cheap as it could be; however she was still only 18 years old and desperately needed to find a way to earn a living if she wanted to keep her new home without being lowered to selling her war story to the press.

Reaching into the back of her fridge, Hermione managed to pull out an egg, some ham and half a pint of milk. Making an internal note to have a trip to the local shops as soon as possible, she began to search through the box labelled 'kitchen' to find herself a frying pan and glass. Ten minutes later, she had managed to scrape together a ham omelette and a mug of milk (it seemed any glasses she owned had temporarily disappeared).

Picking up a copy of the _Daily Prophet,_ Hermione's attention was captured by the heading on the front page; _Death Eater Trials to Take Their Toll on the Ministry. _Ah, yes. Today was the day the trials were scheduled to start. Hermione supposed that it was natural to be nervous on her first day at the office, so to speak, however the prospect of dealing with Voldemort's ex-followers was a stomach churning task even for the strongest of wills. She would not be surprised if Shacklebolt had a job lined up for her right this minute since trials had begun at 5 o'clock that morning.

Breakfast, read a chapter of her book, shower and dressed; that was Hermione's plan for the morning. She was ready in record time, but it was good to be early for your first day at work, wasn't it? Shacklebolt had taken the liberty to connect her fireplace up to the floo network so that she was able to travel to and from the Ministry easily. It now took her all of 30 seconds to get to work from her little flat on the outskirts of Hogsmeade.

When she arrived, the Atrium was bustling with witches and wizards clad in professional looking work robes and carrying brief cases. Hermione immediately began to question her decision to wear muggle attire - a white blouse and pencil skirt with a pair of sensible black heels. Though the black outdoor robe she wore over the top made up for it, she supposed, so long as she didn't get too warm.

She was already aware of where she was to work. Shacklebolt had referred her to the head of department, Aaron Fletcher, straight after the paperwork had been signed and he had seemed like a good man. He had been in Ravenclaw at Hogwarts and had left when she was still in fourth year. He had shown her around their floor, where her office was located and what tasks she would be in charge of. Her office was, like her flat, rather cramped, although she could certainly make it cosy with a sticking charm and a few photographs.

Hermione could feel the butterflies rise up in her stomach as she squeezed her way into a crowded lift, smiling at a small, balding man stood to her left. It was almost like a countdown, she surmised, coming to a halt at each floor only to find out it wasn't hers and yet getting nearer at every stop. _Department of International Magical Cooperation, Department of Magical Games and Sports, Wizarding Examinations Authority, _it seemed endless to her as she watched people leave and enter the lift.

Her heart seemed to stutter when she heard the voice call the name of her department. She quickly stepped into the corridor lined with closed doors lest the lift take her to another level and she miss her stop. Her office was the thirteenth door on the right and she nervously made her way towards it, only to be stopped by somebody calling her name from behind her and footsteps heading her way. She turned to see Aaron Fletcher running up to her, his sandy hair sticking up at awkward angles and his blue eyes wide with panic.

"Hermione-" He panted. "I'm so glad you're here! Shacklebolt has sent one hell of a lot of files down here this morning. From the court cases, you know? I just wanted to pre-warn you. It's going to be a long day. You know what to do with them, right? I mean there'll be notes and messages inside them from Shacklebolt, but you have a general idea from what I told you yesterday, don't you?"

"Yes, yes, thank you, I'm sure that you covered everything I could possibly need to know yesterday. I'll be fine, really!" Hermione was taken aback by the sudden information, but replied confidently nonetheless.

"If you're sure. I mean, you know where my office is, so if you should need any help, you know where to find me." Fletcher assured her.

"Thank you, Mr Fletcher."

"Please, call me Fletch. Though I'm sure you'll have more names for me by the end of the week." He grinned.

"Is that a promise?" Hermione laughed.

"It's a guarantee." He chuckled with her. "Look, just don't hesitate to come looking for me if you need anything, okay? And good luck!"

Hermione thanked him again and he hurried off back to his office as she began to make her way towards her own, noticing that the corridor was fast beginning to fill up.

Glancing towards the mountain of brown files on her desk, Hermione concluded that, yes, it was most definitely warm down here. Throwing her outdoor robe onto the hook at the back of the door, no longer caring about her muggle clothing, she made her way to the desk, sat down on the swivel chair provided and shakily reached out to take the top file. _Alecto Carrow _was the name scrawled across the top of the first page, _accused of general assault and repeated use of the Cruciatus curse. Evidence of being willingly branded with the Dark Mark. Trial beginning 10__th__ May 1998, 5.05am, Courtroom 7. _Underneath this was a clear space titled 's_entence issued by the Wizengamot of the British Ministry of Magic in the presence of the accused' _and a sheet of notes in Shacklebolt's signature handwriting containing, what looked to Hermione like, the result of Carrow's trial that morning – 3 years in Azkaban and 9 years magical probation.

Hermione set to work on her given task, scrawling in all the necessary information that Shacklebolt had provided her with and making sure that the file was up to date and documented. Of course, her main job was to keep these files up to date for as long as the sentence was being served. In this case, Hermione would have to collect Carrow's reports from Azkaban once a month, assess them, make sure that Shacklebolt received them and file them. And if Carrow didn't stick to the magical probation sentenced after release from Azkaban, it was up to Hermione to sort it out.

She had been sifting through reports and files for a good two hours when Hermione came across it. Most of the files had been similar in content; names, trial dates to be documented and in the most recent files which filtered into her possession every hour or so, punishments that the ex-Death Eater's had been sentenced to in today's trials. Although Hermione had recognised a few of the names she had come across, Bellatrix Lestrange and Antonin Dolohov as clear examples, this name stood out much clearer than the rest.

_Draco Lucius Malfoy, _read the file, _accused of cursing dark magical objects with the intention to kill Albus Dumbledore and causing evident bodily harm to Katie Bell and Ronald Weasley whilst attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Evidence of unwillingly accepting the Dark Mark and aiding Death Eater's entry of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Failed to complete tasks assigned under Voldemort's orders. Trial beginning 11__th__ May 1998, 10.00am, Courtroom 12. _Hermione was taken aback by this new information. It seemed that she would be in charge of Draco Malfoy for as long as he was serving whatever sentence he was given tomorrow morning. She was unsure how this thought made her feel. The boy had terrorized her and her friends whilst they were at school together and showed no signs of compassion within the time she had known him. She supposed that whatever _did _happen tomorrow he had had coming to him.

Though, he had looked utterly defeated throughout sixth year. She had noticed almost instantly the difference in her sworn enemy. He'd looked almost ill. Surely he hadn't been enjoying the task he was ordered to complete. Hermione decided that it didn't matter. Why did she care about what happened to the boy that had called her _Mudblood _and made her feel so worthless all them years ago? No, so long as she didn't have to face the arrogant ferret directly, Hermione decided that she couldn't care less about what happened to him. After all, justice was justice. Right?


	2. The Verdict

**Okay, second chapter is up! It's my birthday so I thought I'd be nice and be a quick updater for once. Thank you so much for the lovely reviews, story alerts and favourites and anything else. Actually, just thank you for reading my story. Let me know how the chapter is and I'll love you forever!**

**Again, I own nothing.**

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><p>11th May 1998<p>

It was raining for the fifth day in a row when Hermione awoke, and again she silently thanked Shacklebolt for connecting her flat up to the floo network. Dragging herself out of bed, she began her morning routine. It was Friday, and as much as she loved to work, Hermione was looking forward to her first weekend off and the inevitable catch up on her sleep that would come with it.

She was sat at the breakfast bar of her little kitchenette when there was a rather loud _thump_ on the window of her living room. Dropping her slice of toast on the cold tiles of the floor in surprise, she ran to the window and threw back the curtains to reveal a small barn owl lying horizontally across her windowsill. It seemed to have knocked itself out. At a second glance, Hermione noticed the rolled up copy of the _Daily Prophet _still clutched in its talons.

"Honestly, you could give Errol a run for his money." She muttered to the small bird as she opened up the window and picked up its unconscious form, setting it on the coffee table. Taking the paper from its grasp, she decided to sit on the sofa to read her paper whilst she waited for the silly bird to wake up and be on its way.

Flicking through the mindless drabble that had been printed that morning, Hermione sighed and almost threw the newspaper in the bin until something of interest caught her eye. As she turned onto page nine, it seemed impossible for her to miss the bold text in the bottom-left corner; _Malfoy Heir to Face Azkaban_. Hermione had completely forgotten about her discovery of Malfoy's trial on her first day at the Ministry of Magic, however it quickly came rushing back into her consciousness. Could he really be sent to Azkaban for what he had done? She was well aware that the Wizengamot were being unusually harsh with issuing the Death Eater's sentences, but would they really go so far as to send a seventeen year old boy to Azkaban for a stupid mistake made by, most probably, his father? Hermione could only take a guess that, yes, they would.

A sharp hoot brought her out of her thoughts and she absently shook her head, clearing her mind of her childhood enemy. She fed the recently awoken owl some pellets and watched it swoop back out of the open window. Making her way to the bathroom to have her morning shower and almost slipping on her recently dropped toast, she began to get ready for another long day at work. Any thoughts of the newspaper article or her childhood nemesis were long forgotten about as the hot water hit her skin.

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><p>Draco Malfoy didn't exactly <em>wake <em>that morning. In fact, it seemed that he hadn't actually slept in order for him to perform the physical act of waking up. With his trial a mere hour away, his nerves were set on edge as his mother and father forced him to sit at the table with them and eat something, anything, that would prepare him for the day ahead.

His father, Lucius Malfoy, had completed his trial two days previously and had received a five thousand galleon fine and six years magical probation. The odds were, seemingly, in Draco's favour. Surely, if his father, willing Death Eater and long term follower of the Dark Lord, had gotten off with nothing more than a fine and probation, then he would be dancing home from the courtrooms later on today. However, thought Draco, Lucius Malfoy hadn't been branded with the Dark Mark at the age of sixteen. Lucius Malfoy didn't have clear evidence against him showing that he had caused serious harm, and almost killed, two of his classmates. And Lucius Malfoy certainly hadn't attempted to murder Albus Dumbledore on numerous occasions and aided a bunch of bloodthirsty Death Eater's in entering a school with orders from the Dark Lord himself.

Yes, Draco Malfoy definitely had reason to worry. And his parents' sorry attempts at keeping him away from this mornings _Daily Prophet _hadn't helped the situation at all. Azkaban. That was what they were saying, was it? He was rumoured to be sent to Azkaban? But, he had turned seventeen years old less than a year ago. They couldn't do it, could they? It was utterly preposterous. Absolutely absurd. There was no way they could do that. Though his lack of sleep, shaking hands and racing heartbeat told a different story.

"Darling, do try and eat something. It will help you to concentrate at your trial." His mother pleaded from the seat across from him.

His plate was still piled high with breakfast food that he couldn't seem to stop staring daggers at and a muttered "I'm not hungry," was Draco's only reply. He missed the look that Lucius and Narcissa shared with each other and jumped when the sound of his father's chair scraping the tiled floor echoed around the cavernous, empty room.

"If you're not going to eat, then I suggest that you get ready for court. You have forty-five minutes before the trial begins." With that said, Lucius Malfoy swept out of the silent room in a flurry of black robes, leaving his wife and son to bask in the awkward atmosphere.

"You will be absolutely fine, Draco." Narcissa whispered.

Draco missed the hurt that flashed through his mother's eyes as he recoiled at the comforting touch of her hand on his. Tossing his untouched concoction of eggs, bacon and various other breakfast cuisine away from him, Narcissa watched on helplessly as her only son stood up and left the table, following in his father's footsteps. She could only pray to Merlin that he came home.

Time seemed to come to a complete stop throughout the next half an hour. Draco was tired of waiting, he just wanted it over with as soon as possible. The tension was worse than he could ever have imagined. When the clock struck 9.40am, he began to make his way down to one of the many living quarters within Malfoy Manor where he and his father were due to floo to the Ministry. He had put on his best tailored robes, as requested by Lucius, and tucked his wand into the side of his belt. Draco knew, however, that no amount of expensive clothing was going to help him within the next hour or so.

When he entered the lounge, Draco was met with the anxious stares of his parents who stood waiting for him by the fireplace. Even the old house elf, Libby, who was stood at Lucius' feet carrying his outdoor robes, seemed to quake. Though whether it was out of fear or worry, Draco was unsure.

"Oh, Draco..." Narcissa choked back a sob.

"Please, mother," Draco rolled his eyes and tried to appear sure of himself. "I'll be back in a couple of hours. Honestly-"

However, he did not get to finish his sentence as he was cut off mid-speech, only to be tightly wrapped up in his mother's protective grasp. Her arms seemed to be squeezing the life from him. It was like she was never going to see him again...

"I love you, darling. You will take care, won't you?" She sniffled into his shoulder.

"Mother, you're getting my robes wet."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Draco," Narcissa reluctantly pulled away from her son and wiped her eyes. "I just..."

"I'll see you later, mother." Draco's tone was final as he stepped up to his father who handed him a fistful of floo powder.

Stepping into the grate, Draco tried as hard as he could to block out his father's unwavering gaze, his mother's sobs and the sickly feeling deep in the pit of his stomach which was continuing to get stronger. Holding the handful of powder out in front of him, he called out his destination, the Ministry of Magic, clearly, threw the powder to the floor and disappeared into a flurry of roaring, green flames.

Draco whirled passed fireplace after fireplace until he finally came across what he was looking for; the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic. Stepping out of one of several fireplaces lined up against the wall, he was immediately hit by the flashing of multiple cameras and the shouts of multiple voices screaming his name. He was only half aware of the hand that grabbed his elbow and guided him towards the lifts, pushing him through a crowd of Ministry officials and into the first one they could find. Lucius quickly slammed the gate shut and all of the fuss that had surrounded Draco seemed to steadily fade into the background. It came as no surprise to Draco that his father had barely said a word to him that morning and now would be no exception. It was just the two of them in the lift and the only sounds that could be heard were the rickety echoes of the metal as it travelled through the levels of the Ministry towards the Department of Mysteries.

Soon enough, they came to a halt and the gate re-opened to reveal the leering corridor that lead through the department. His father wasted no time in swiftly exiting the lift and heading towards the stairs which would lead them down to the Wizengamot Courtrooms. Draco was quick to follow, not daring to lag behind. The stairwell to the courtrooms was narrow and cold. They passed torches which hung on the walls every so often emanating a gloomy light that did not help Draco's current nerves. Reaching the bottom of the staircase, Draco and Lucius came to a long dark corridor, akin to that of the dungeons at Hogwarts. As they approached Courtroom Twelve, the Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, appeared from behind one of the heavy, wooden doors and looked at Draco solemnly.

"Mr Malfoy," He nodded in polite greeting. "You're right on time. Your trial will start in four minutes. However, I'm afraid, Lucius, that you will not be able to enter the courtroom with Draco."

"I am aware of the procedures." Lucius bit back icily. "I was merely escorting my only son to his trial."

"Of course." Shacklebolt's solemn look did not falter as he gave another curt nod and left the two Malfoy men to wait in front of the door marked with a golden number twelve.

"This place won't last two weeks with that joke of a Minister." Lucius hissed at Shacklebolt's retreating figure. "You'll see. They'll be begging me to fund them again within the week."

Draco wasn't paying attention to his father's ignorant ramblings. He was leaning against the door and staring at the watch on his wrist, counting down the minutes until his trial was due to start. Two minutes and ten seconds, nine, eight, seven. All of a sudden, time appeared to have sped up. He'd never known a clock to tick so fast. Had seconds always passed so quickly? In his head, he began to recite the books he had replaced his sleeping pattern with. He figured it couldn't hurt to be clued in on how these things worked, though reading through some of the convictions of past Death Eater's had only resulted in unnerving him even more. The fact that he had no witness didn't help either. Snape was the only one who could possibly have helped him out of this, and unfortunately for Draco, he had been brutally murdered nine days ago.

There was a clunk from the other side of the wood and the door swung open to reveal a tall, skinny man with dark hair and bags under his eyes. He looked as bad as Draco felt.

"Draco Malfoy?" He asked, his voice seeming to wheeze more than talk.

"Yes?"

"Your trial is about to begin. Hand over your wand. Sit down in the centre of the room on the chair provided and remain silent." He moved aside and Draco turned to glance one last time at his father before pulling his wand from his belt, handing it to the gangly-looking man and entering the courtroom.

Draco heard the door slam shut behind him as he took a seat in the middle of what must have been at least fifty Ministry officials. Taking in all of their faces, Draco concluded that he had never met any of them. Nobody knew him here. Like the staircase on the way down here, the courtroom was dark and cold with a few torches held to the walls in brackets which made no difference to the lighting at all. It was all wood, stone and angular edges and the atmosphere radiated harshness. There were benches positioned all around the room, all facing Draco's place in the centre. It was like some sort of stadium and they'd all come to watch him. Only he would have done anything to get out of there.

The hum that surrounded him died down and the courtroom fell silent as Draco turned to the man stood at the podium before him. He was small and plump and rather bald with a few wispy grey hairs for eyebrows. His eyes looked like somebody had stuck little blue bonbons from Honeydukes into his sockets and just drawn on the pupils with a quill and ink. All in all, he wasn't the most comforting person to be around in Draco's present situation. The interrogator began to open his mouth and a booming voice bounced off the stone walls. The first couple of sentences that left him were a bunch of nonsense to Draco, a mere buzz in the back of his mind. He internally scolded himself for not paying attention, though there was hardly much need, for as soon as he heard his name leave the mans lips, he was sitting straight to attention.

"You are Draco Lucius Malfoy of Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, England. Correct?"

"Y-yes." His voice broke slightly, but at least he'd managed to answer the question.

"You carry the Dark Mark. Correct?"

"Yes."

"You received the Dark Mark at the age of sixteen, whilst still attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Correct?"

"Yes."

"After which, you were ordered by Lord Voldemort to assassinate Albus Dumbledore?"

"Yes."

"Were you willingly branded with the Dark Mark?"

"I had no choice, my father-"

"Mr Malfoy, did you or did you not willingly and freely accept the Dark Mark?"

"No."

"You aided Death Eater's entry into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry by repairing a vanishing cabinet purchased from Borgin and Burkes of Knockturn Alley, London whilst you were still attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Correct?"

"Yes."

"You attempted to assassinate Albus Dumbledore on more than one occasion. Correct?"

"Yes."

"Whilst attempting to assassinate Albus Dumbledore on more than one occasion, you inflicted severe injury to fellow students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Katie Bell and Ronald Weasley. Correct?"

"Yes, but I didn't have a choice, my father-"

"Did you or did you not inflict severe injury upon Katie Bell and Ronald Weasley?"

"Yes."

"You performed illegal dark magic upon more than one magical object intended to kill Albus Dumbledore. Correct?"

"Yes, but-"

"What were the objects, Mr Malfoy?"

"A necklace and a bottle of mead."

"And you cursed these objects. Correct?"

"No. Well, yes, I cursed the necklace. But, I didn't curse the mead."

"If you did not curse the bottle of mead, how did it come to possess such dark magic?"

"I..."

"Hurry up, Mr Malfoy."

"I-I poisoned it."

"And Katie Bell and Ronald Weasley came into possession of these objects, correct?"

"Yes."

"Did they come into possession of these objects accidentally or did you intend for them to possess them?"

"I gave the necklace to Bell. But, Weasley found the mead. I never gave it to him."

"Were these objects intended for Albus Dumbledore?"

"Yes, but I didn't have a choice!" Draco shouted, causing a stir within the crowds around him. He took the following silence as his chance. "Voldemort threatened to kill my family! My mother, my father _and _myself! I had no choice. I had to do those things. I was protecting them! It was self-defence!"

There was a pause in which every person in the room appeared to hold their breath. The interrogator eyed Draco up and down curiously for at least two minutes before finally breaking the silence.

"Mr Malfoy, you failed to assassinate Albus Dumbledore on more than one occasion. Correct?"

"Yes."

"You failed to complete orders from Voldemort himself on more than one occasion. Correct?"

"Yes."

"Mr Malfoy, have you ever performed an Unforgivable curse; including the Cruciatus curse, Imperius curse or the Killing curse, willingly or unwillingly?"

"No."

There were more whispers from the Ministry officials around him and Draco concluded that he was more nervous now than he had been before the trial had started. He wasn't sure whether this was going to swing in his favour or not. No amount of books could have prepared him for this, he was sure. _Just be over, just be over, just be over_ he repeated in his mind like a mantra. By this point, he was positive that any blood he had had in his face upon entering the courtroom had left him. He felt as if he was going to throw up the breakfast he had never had the chance to eat at any moment.

So, where were the rest of the questions? This couldn't possibly be it. No witness, no solid evidence and a Dark Mark etched into his left forearm; it couldn't possibly be that easy. However, the interrogator had turned to the other members of the Wizengamot perched neatly in the stands behind him. They were whispering quickly between themselves and their eyebrows were furrowed in concentration. They didn't seem too happy in Draco's opinion.

After five minutes of praying to all the deities he could think of that he wouldn't throw up in the middle of the trial, Draco saw the interrogator turn back to face him. This was it. He was going to Azkaban, he was sure. It was all over. They hadn't even bothered to listen to him and he was going to rot in that hell for the next five years, maybe more, for something that, technically speaking, wasn't his fault in any way at all.

"All those in favour of one year in Azkaban, raise your hands now."

Draco could have sworn his heart stopped beating as the words hit him. It was really happening. He was going to Azkaban. He couldn't do it. He'd go mad, surely. His mother - he'd promised her he was coming home. But... nobody was raising their hand.

"All those in favour of five years magical probation and a fine of three-thousand galleons."

More than a quarter of the Wizengamot members raised their hands to this one. Maybe even a half. Draco's heart began to beat so fast he could feel his pulse inside his head. However, it seemed there was still one more option to go.

"All those in favour of six months banishment with magical probation."

A lot of members raised their hands for this. It was an easy winner. The only problem was that Draco knew exactly what was meant by 'banishment'. He had read about this in one of his books the night before. He was going to be banished from the wizarding world. For six months. That left him with one option; he was going to live in the muggle world with not even his magic to encourage his sanity to stick around. He felt sick. Sicker than sick. The room was spinning and his head felt like it was going to burst. He'd rather have been sent to Azkaban.

This was the final verdict they had come to. A few more words of closure were spoken and the trial ended as Draco was escorted out through the door he had entered through. His father was waiting for him when he stepped into the corridor and his face much resembled that of Draco's. It looked as if he'd heard about the verdict. Again, Shacklebolt appeared in front of them and congratulated – _congratulated _– Draco on his escape from an Azkaban sentence. However, as he was lead off with his father and the Minister for Magic, Draco didn't feel so lucky.

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><p>It was shocking really, how many followers Voldemort had really had. Hermione was quite sure that she had gotten through at least thirty-two files already, and it was only just reaching half past eleven. Suddenly, her door was thrown open to reveal Fletch's familiar face wearing his familiar look of stress upon his features. Hermione's eyes drifted to the file clutched to his chest.<p>

"New one from Shacklebolt. Said to deliver it straight to you, make sure you got it as soon as possible. It's an important one I should think." He explained as he handed it over to her.

"Thank you, Fletch." She smiled and he nodded, leaving her office in a rush.

Hermione looked down at the brown file in her hands and instinctively opened it up to read the first page. _Draco Lucius Malfoy_- oh, Merlin. This certainly was not good. Why was Draco Malfoy's file being hand delivered to her by her Head of Department? She quickly read through the results of his trial which had taken place less than an hour ago. Banishment? Well, she supposed it was better than Azkaban. Though she felt sorry for the poor soul who'd inevitably have to put up with him for the six months of his sentence.

Slotted neatly into the centre of the file was a note from Shacklebolt.

_Miss Granger__,_

_ Come to my office as soon as you receive this. I shall explain when you get here._

_ Kingsley Shacklebolt_

_ (Minister for Magic)_

Hermione skimmed through it and immediately shot into action, almost running down the corridor and heading for the lifts. The journey up to Shacklebolt's office felt like a lifetime. After being sat in her office for two days straight, sorting through the same files again and again, Hermione was glad to finally be doing something different. Even if it did involve Malfoy.

When she arrived at the polished oak that lead to the Minister for Magic's office, she knocked gently and waited patiently. Almost immediately she heard Shacklebolt call her to enter. Stepping inside the cosy office, Hermione was, for lack of a better word, _horrified,_ to find Malfoy sitting in the chair opposite Shacklebolt. She hadn't expected him to actually, physically, be here! Noticing the empty seat beside him and trying her best to ignore his penetrating scowl, she moved cautiously to sit down and looked to Shacklebolt with a look of pure confusion across her face.

"I'll get to the point, I suppose," Shacklebolt answered her unspoken request. "Miss Granger, I am presuming you have read Mr Malfoy's file?"

"Yes, he's been out of court for less than an hour, hasn't he?"

"Indeed he has. And again, I'm presuming you have received the information on the sentence he has been issued with by the Wizengamot?"

"Yes." Hermione chanced a sneaky glance at the boy beside her only to find him looking in the opposite direction, brooding to himself.

"Then I am sure you are aware that Mr Malfoy needs to be taken care of, so to speak. He needs to be observed 24/7 so as to prevent risk of him revealing our world to the muggles and to ensure that he is serving his sentence thoroughly. An official needs to live with Mr Malfoy whilst he is serving his sentence. It is procedure, after all. Though these sentences are very rarely handed out, I must admit."

"Kingsley, why are you telling me this?" Hermione asked nervously, though she was fairly certain as to why he was telling her this, and not some other poor Ministry worker.

"Miss Granger, I can think of none better suited to the job." He smiled as he inclined his head towards her.

All Hermione could do was gasp and whip her head around to face Malfoy, only to find him glowering at her. Live with him? _For six months? _It couldn't be done. They would kill each other, without a doubt. It was impossible. They were enemies for crying out loud!

"Babysat by the Mudblood," Malfoy sneered at her. "_Fantastic._"


	3. Meetings

**Chapter 3! I really don't like this chapter. There'll be a lot more Draco/Hermione interaction from now on though, I promise! Sorry for the wait, I've had a really busy week. Thank you, as usual, for all the lovely reviews, story alerts, favourites etc etc. I really do appreciate all your feedback.**

**PS. I've changed the rating of this story to M for the swearing in this chapter. I'm not promising anything more just yet though. But, you never know!**

**Again, I own nothing.**

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><p>14th May 1998<p>

"You will both receive shared temporary accommodation, courtesy of the Ministry, within the six months that Mr Malfoy is serving his sentence, as I am sure you are already aware. The property will be in the vicinity of Muggles and Miss Granger, your job will be to assess Mr Malfoy's behaviour to ensure that it is appropriate and that he complies to what is asked of him."

It had been two days since the results of Malfoy's court case had come through. After her latest job assignment, Hermione's first weekend off had turned out to be rather bland in comparison to how she'd imagined it to be. Consisting mostly of wallowing in self pity and working her way through two tubs of chocolate ice cream, she was sure that it was a weekend well spent when taking into account her current predicament. Harry and Ron were still blissfully unaware of the plans being made for her and Malfoy by the Ministry. Ginny, however, had dropped by Hermione's flat on Saturday afternoon as nobody seemed able to contact her. Though her words of advice after Hermione had filled her in were hardly helpful.

"_Well, thank Merlin he's easy on the eyes, at least._" Was Ginny's sympathetic (rather _pa_thetic) answer to her friend's problem.

Hermione had sworn the red-headed girl to secrecy. She considered it her duty to inform Harry and Ron of her latest assignment herself, face to face; after all, they had been best friends for well over six years. Surely they, of all people, would understand why she was doing this. They had been away over the weekend, working in the North of England, hunting down a couple of rogue Death Eaters that had somehow managed to escape the Ministry's clutches; they would be home within the next hour though, she was sure. She'd tell them over lunch. Ron was always more compliant when there was food involved. With Harry, she'd just have to cross her fingers and hope for the best.

Since the brief meeting they had shared in Shacklebolt's office on Friday, Hermione hadn't seen or spoken to Malfoy until this afternoon. At present, they were in a board room in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, reluctantly seated side-by-side, being addressed to by Simon Lake, the Wizengamot Administrator. It would have been a cosy room (with the long mahogany table, matching chairs and sophisticated decoration of reds and golds, reminding Hermione of the Gryffindor common room), if it wasn't for the meeting taking place within. Placed around the table, as well as Hermione and Mr Lake, were many more Ministry officials including Shacklebolt himself, all here to discuss Malfoy's sentence and Hermione's unfortunate roll in it for the next six – bound to be gruelling - months.

"Mr Malfoy will be required to find a job or career as part of the Muggle world to earn himself a living as he will not be receiving income from relatives or friends. Any attempt at such a transaction will result in a breach of the sentence. Mr Malfoy is also expected to keep finances and the household in general paid for and up to date. Whilst serving the six months banishment, Mr Malfoy is not allowed contact, indirect or otherwise, with the Wizarding world and must integrate himself as part of the Muggle community.

"Miss Granger's place within this is to assure that Mr Malfoy meets the listed requirements, make up thorough and accurate reports that are to be issued to the Head Office of the Ministry once a week regarding Mr Malfoy's progress throughout his sentence. Miss Granger is to reside with Mr Malfoy in the accommodation provided for the six months, though no contribution to housekeeping and finance is necessary. Is everybody clear so far?"

Every head nodded in affirmation. Although Hermione was trying to look at this through a clearly professional point of view, she was finding it unnaturally hard not to throw up onto the table. Seated to her right, Malfoy's pale face assured her that he wasn't dealing with this too well either. Right now, it was the only thing they had in common. Mr Lake seemed content with the reactions of his colleagues and so carried on.

"Okay, so if everybody is happy with the procedure so far, I'd like to talk about arrangements scheduled for Mr Malfoy and Miss Granger on the 15th May 1998. Tomorrow, Miss Granger is to introduce Mr Malfoy to the Muggle community so as to get him accustomed to the temporary society they will both be residing in. At 3.00pm, the temporary property is to be viewed and assessed. I hope everything is found to be in working order.

"On Wednesday 16th May 1998, Mr Malfoy and Miss Granger are scheduled to move into the property as Mr Malfoy's banishment and magical probation officially begins and any contact with the Wizarding world or use of magic is prohibited for Mr Malfoy until from this date until the 16th November 1998. Miss Granger, however, is free to work her way between both the Wizarding world and the Muggle world during the six months, continuing to attend work at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Now, if everybody is clear, conference dismissed."

Sounds of scraping chairs filled the room as people began to file out of the door. Hermione gathered the days paperwork that she had been burdened with from her place at the table as Malfoy quickly stood and headed for the exit without so much as a backwards glance at her.

"Malfoy!" Hermione called out to his retreating back.

As she had expected him to, he ignored her and left the room. Hermione huffed exasperatedly and hurried after him, ignoring the papers she knew were slowly slipping out of her grasp. When she stepped into the corridor, she turned to see Malfoy heading straight for the lifts – seemingly, as fast as he could. Hermione began to run after him, shouting his name and receiving a few strange looks from her co-workers.

"Malfoy!" She almost growled as he continued to ignore her and press the button for the lift that would return him to the Atrium. "Malfoy!"

"What?" He finally turned to look at her and Hermione almost tripped over her heels from the glare she was currently receiving.

"Look, there's no point in acting all hostile with me. I don't like this situation anymore than-"

"This _situation_?" Malfoy choked out a humourless laugh. "Is that what you lot are calling it?"

"My lot?" Hermione scoffed. "Look, if you hadn't broken the law, we wouldn't be here! This is entirely your fault! How can you have the nerve to-to-"

"To what, Granger? Insult you? And they call you the brightest witch of our age! Have you completely forgotten the past seven years we spent at that pathetic excuse for a school? Merlin knows how you managed to survive the war. Is that bushy head finally beginning to have an impact on your brain cells?"

"You are utterly insufferable! You are the most arrogant prat I have ever had the misfortune to meet!"

"Just stay away from me. I didn't particularly want your Mudblood germs near me at school, and I certainly don't want them now. So, Granger, if you know what's good for you-"

"Are you trying to threaten me?" Hermione gasped. "You are completely- ugh! We have to live together! How in Merlin's name am I meant to 'stay away from you'?"

"Just fucking do it!"

"Is this you attempting to intimidate me? To scare me into doing what you say for the next six months? Well, I'm awfully sorry to break it to you Malfoy, but it is not going to work! I have a job to do, and unlike you, responsibilities. The next six months are going to be nothing but strictly professional, I assure you."

"What do you want, Mudblood?"

"Just be in the Atrium tomorrow at nine o'clock. Don't be late! And I swear to Merlin, if you don't turn up, I am legally obliged to break down your front door and hex your bloody balls off. So, just be there."

"Don't cut me too deep there, Granger. Might actually do some long-term damage." Malfoy drawled sarcastically as he turned back to the lifts.

Hermione grabbed his shoulder and spun him to look at her, only to find herself forcefully thrown into the nearest wall. Trying hard to ignore the sharp pain shooting up her spine and the papers sprawled over the floorboards around her, she looked up into Malfoy's cold gaze. His face was a mere inch from her own and he looked as if he was ready to kill. Hermione guessed that if it hadn't been for the few people who were currently staring wide-eyed at them that he might have really considered it. She knew for sure that if he had his wand he would have hexed her into oblivion by now. She met his eyes with her own determined glare as he began to spit words at her.

"Don't. Fucking. Touch me. You disgusting little Mudblood!" Malfoy hissed.

"You are the most vile excuse for a man I have ever met!"

"Just as you are the most pathetic excuse for a witch _I've_ ever met." After one last scowl in her general direction, Malfoy composed himself and got into the lift. "Oh, and Granger. Better get on the floor and pick those up. It is where you belong, after all."

The lift began to move, taking Malfoy up to the Atrium, and when he was finally out of Hermione's line of sight, she took a shaky breath she was unaware she had been holding and bent down to pick up her work. However, she was met with another pair of hands doing it for her. She looked up and was met with Fletch's signature expression of worry. Only this time, she presumed it wasn't over the stress of his work.

"Are you alright?" He asked, handing her the papers as they stood up.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine, Fletch. It's just Malfoy, don't worry. I can handle it." Hermione reassured him.

"You sure? He seemed to be getting pretty hands on with you there. Did he hurt you? I can have him reported. Honestly, he won't know what's hit him if he gets a report of abuse from the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. His sentence could be doubled! It's happened before, back when-"

"Fletch!" Hermione stopped him, laughing quietly. "Honestly, I'm fine! And please, don't get his sentence extended; that would just make things a million times worse for me. Six months is quite enough, thank you."

He smiled at her and threw his arm around her shoulders, guiding her back towards her office.

"You're certainly good at your job, I have to hand it to you. Never known one to handle a case like that the way you do. You'll go far, Hermione, I promise you."

"Thank you. Really, though, I'm just happy to be helping out. Even if that does mean spending time with the ferret."

"The ferret?" Fletch burst out laughing. Hermione couldn't help but follow.

"Inside joke between me, Harry and Ron. After you left Hogwarts, when we were in fourth year, we had a Defence Against the Dark Arts professor who transfigured Malfoy into a ferret as punishment for provoking Harry about the Triwizard Tournament. Turns out the professor was actually-"

"Barty Crouch Jr. Yes, I remember reading about it in the _Prophet_. Good stunt, though, turning Malfoy into a ferret. Wish I'd been there to see it." He chuckled. "Potter and Weasley come back today, right?"

"Yes, I'm supposed to be meeting them for lunch to tell them about Malfoy."

They were at Hermione's office door now, and she leant against the wood, grimacing at the thought of breaking this recent news to her friends.

"Oh. Sorry. I feel for you, really. But, good luck!" He smiled at her and turned to leave for his own office. "Let me know if he gives you anymore grief, yeah? See you later, Hermione!"

"I will." She rolled her eyes, but laughed anyway. "Bye Fletch."

Slipping into her office, she clicked the door shut behind her and turned to her desk only to be greeted with a fresh pile of paperwork. Today was most definitely not looking to be in Hermione's favour.

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><p>It was 12.07pm exactly. Hermione was running late. Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. As if telling Harry and Ron about Malfoy wasn't going to be bad enough, she was going to turn up late! Shacklebolt had referred yet another set of files to her little over an hour ago and she had been so caught up in her work that she'd completely lost track of time.<p>

She practically fell into The Leaky Cauldron as she had been walking so fast on her way through Diagon Alley to get here on time. As the door slammed shut behind her, she spotted a flash of orange in the far corner. Ah, Ron. And Harry was beside him, as expected. She'd hoped that maybe, just maybe, luck would be on her side and they would both forget about lunch so that she could put this off for another day. Unfortunately, luck didn't seem to be on her side lately.

"'Mione!" Ron cried out when he spotted her, gesturing for her to come and sit beside him.

"Hi guys." Hermione greeted them both, slipping into her seat almost cautiously.

"Butterbeer?" Harry asked.

"Erm... No. No thank you, Harry, I'm fine."

"Okay, something's wrong. What did I tell you, Harry! She's _never_ late! I mean, this is _Hermione Granger_ we're talking about. And now she's turning down butterbeer! What did I tell you, mate?" Ron boasted proudly as if he'd just received an O in one of his O.W.L's.

Hermione looked between her two friends, willing the guilty expression to stay off her features.

"What in Merlin's name are you talking about, Ronald?"

"Come on, Hermione. We're not that thick. I can feel the guilt coming off you in waves!" Harry joked.

"How about we get the food in?"

Picking up a menu, Hermione pretended to be absorbed with reading the contents. The change of subject seemed to have worked as Ron quickly perked up at the mention of food. Tom, the barman, served up their orders almost immediately. Ron's order, as per usual, taking up half of the little round table.

"'O, oop emnee?" He got out through a mouthful of chicken.

"Excuse me?"

"I think what he meant to say was 'so, what's up Hermione?" Harry chuckled.

"Oh. Well... Look, don't get angry, okay? I have some news, of sorts."

Ron swallowed his food and seemed to pay attention for all of a second before he started on his chips. Harry, however, was staring intently at Hermione as she nervously played with a piece of loose cotton on her dress.

"Hermione?"

"I'm going to live with Malfoy!" She spat out.

Ron's face went red and his eyeballs looked as if they were ready to leave their sockets. It took a moment for Hermione and Harry to realise that he was choking and they quickly began thumping him on the back until he managed to dislodge the food from his windpipe.

"Malfoy?" He gasped in Hermione's direction.

"Yeah, Malfoy." She gulped and looked between her very red and very pale best friends. "It's not how it sounds. You know that I got a job in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. And Shacklebolt did warn me that I might have to spend a long period of time in the presence of my clients when I signed up for it. And when Malfoy's sentence came through on Friday, he assumed that I was the best for the job. I couldn't really say no, could I? He _is_ the Minister for Magic. He needs all the help he can get."

"You could have said no! You should _really_ have said no! You could have- have..." Ron trailed off looking as if he was about to faint.

"Hermione, what exactly is Malfoy's sentence?" Harry asked calmly, though his face was deathly white.

"Six months banishment... With magical probation. So, it's not as if he'll be able to perform any magic! So, I'll have that advantage, won't I? And he's not allowed to leave the Muggle world! I can leave whenever I please. I'll hardly see him! And it will really help Shacklebolt out. You know how much stress he's been under lately with the court cases and the press and just... everything! It must be awful and terribly stressful."

Her speech was met with silence. Ron was panting heavily beside her like a bull ready to charge and Harry looked as if he was being sorted at Hogwarts for the first time.

"Please understand." Hermione pleaded.

Harry was the first one to shake himself from the state he was in as he turned to her and smiled weakly.

"Just... Just promise us that if he gives you any problems or if he hurts you or threatens you or harasses you or-"

"Yes, Harry!"

"Right, sorry. Just promise that you'll give up the case if he does anything to hurt you."

"Harry, I-"

"Promise us, 'Mione!" Ron choked out.

"I promise." She sighed. "Thank you."

Nobody spoke for the rest of lunch. They ate in silence. Hermione had never seen Ron eat so little in so much time. She could feel the stares every time she turned away. No matter what they had said she knew that they didn't approve. She was surprised that Ron had managed to stay so calm. She'd expected some screaming and a smashed cup at the least. She offered to pay for their food, as an apology of some sorts, and they both agreed, too in shock to refuse.

It wasn't the best reaction she could have wished for, but it was certainly better than she had expected. On her way back to the Ministry, Hermione couldn't help but feel elated to some degree. At least her friendships were still intact, even if every other aspect of her life did seem to be falling apart.


	4. The Unknown

**It's now 2am. I'm tired and I rushed this chapter and I'm really, really sorry. Please don't hate me. I'll try harder next time, I promise. :(**

**I don't really like this chapter, I just don't know why. Writer's block is killing me. Sorry for the wait and thank you for all the lovely responses from the last chapter. I love you all!**

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><p>15th May 1998<p>

Hermione had barely slept. She _had_ tried. Really, she had. However, thoughts of spending the day with Malfoy were enough to drive any normal person to insanity; or at the very least, insomnia. And Hermione didn't just have one day to dwell on throughout the seemingly endless night. Oh no, she had the pleasurable task of spending the next six months in Draco Malfoy's charming presence. The idea alone was killing her.

Glancing at the clock on the mantel piece, she sighed and made to stand up. No matter how much she wished it wouldn't, no matter how much she was dreading it, nine o'clock was slowly approaching and Hermione reluctantly made her way to the fireplace. She was not looking forward to this. Nine o'clock was too early to deal with the likes of Draco Malfoy.

If there was one thing Hermione was certain of, it was that Malfoy had not changed. Yesterday had most definitely helped in confirming her suspicions about the boy. He was the same arrogant, prejudiced and self-centred ferret that she had known for several years whilst they were attending Hogwarts together. And he wouldn't change; Hermione knew that. People like Malfoy couldn't redeem themselves, it just wasn't in their nature.

At times, when she had briefly passed him in the corridors at school or as he had walked by her table in the library, Malfoy had given her enough trouble, grief and self-doubt to last her a life time. But six months in his constant presence... Was it possible that she could really get through this?

Yes. Yes, of course she could. She was Hermione Granger, for Merlin's sake! She had spent months without a home, without parents, wandering aimlessly around the country looking for parts of Voldemort's soul with two angsty teenage boys and fighting in a war that she didn't understand. If she could help defeat the darkest wizard of all time, and still live to tell the tale, then surely she could cope with a simple job. After all, that was all that this was. A job. An assignment. A task.

Easy.

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><p>Hermione had been waiting by the Fountain of Magical Brethren in the Atrium of the Ministry for well over ten minutes now, and there was still no sign of Malfoy. Of course, she had expected him to be late. Though she was still seriously considering whether or not to carry out the threat that she had made to him the previous day. After fifteen minutes of impatiently tapping her foot and glaring into mid-air, a flash of platinum blonde hair caught Hermione's eye. He wasn't exactly rushing, she noted, as she watched Malfoy swagger towards her as slowly as he possibly could, all the while scowling in her general direction.<p>

"You're late." She stated when he was finally within earshot.

"Granger, if I'd been given the choice, I wouldn't be here at all."

"Charming as always, I see."

Hermione rolled her eyes at his predictably hostile behaviour and moved to take hold of his arm. Immediately, he took a good three steps away from her, his facial expression morphing into one of utmost disgust as he physically flinched at her action.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"I'm trying to apparate us." She sighed, moving to grab his arm again, only to have him take another step back.

"Don't touch me, Mudblood!"

"Just let me apparate us! That way, we can get this over with and I can get home and enjoy my last night of sanity. Preferably away from you!"

"And you think I enjoy the thought of spending the next six months in _your_ filthy muggle presence? Merlin Granger, is madness just one of those Mudblood traits or can we all catch it?"

"Malfoy! Can you stop being an arse for two minutes whilst I apparate us out of here?"

"I don't want you anywhere near me. I showered this morning. Imagine what a waste of water it would be to let you contaminate me with your inferiority."

"Maturity never was your forte, was it?"

"Mudblood!" He spat.

"Yes, yes, my blood is filthy. I think I got it the first time. Now, if you would be so kind as to make your own way to muggle London, I will see you there in about an hour." Hermione could feel the false civility dripping from her own words and she shivered at the cold harshness she was unaware she was capable of.

"What in the name of Salazar are you talking about now?"

"Well, since the thought of me touching, Merlin forbid, your _arm_, of all places, is so repulsive, I'm afraid you will have to stay within the apparition boundaries to apparate yourself. Which, I'm sorry to break it to you, will mean a fair walk, as there are no apparition points for two miles from Trafalgar Square."

"Granger, what the fuck?"

"You see, Kingsley, being the Minister for Magic, and me, being an employee of said Ministry, has taken the liberty to allow me free-range apparition for the day. I can apparate from and to wherever I please. I could have taken you with me, but we wouldn't want you infected by my muggle heritage now, would we?"

"You're testing my patience, Mu-"

"It's a shame, really. We could have had today over so much quicker."

"Granger, I swear-"

"Trafalgar Square, Malfoy. Do try not to get lost."

With that said, Hermione apparated herself out of the Atrium and straight to their meeting point. Despite it being so early in the morning, Trafalgar Square was already buzzing with tourists flashing cameras at the pigeons and dapper looking professionals in sharp suits hurrying along to their offices. She had a good hour, at least, until Malfoy would eventually turn up to argue with her some more. Sighing, she found a space on the wall of the fountain at the centre of the Square and sat down to wait.

She had been childish. Damn it, she had practically sunk to his level! Hermione wasn't too sure what had happened to her professionalism in the heat of the moment, but he had pushed her buttons! Honestly, did he have to throw so many insults at her in such a short space of time? And at this hour of the morning? It was no wonder she had snapped! And if he was so unwilling to let her apparate them, what choice did she have but to leave him behind? He would have to find his way around sooner or later, she argued with herself. It would be good practice for him, surely.

Now, all she had to do was wait.

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><p>"You bitch!"<p>

"Hello again, Malfoy." Hermione got up from her place on the fountain wall and headed towards the dishevelled looking blonde shouting profanities at her through the crowd.

"Are you completely fucking insane? What, in the name of Salazar, were you thinking?"

"You wouldn't let me apparate you! What was I supposed to do?"

"You could have asked somebody else to do it! You could have given me some pissing directions!" Malfoy screamed, completely oblivious to the stares the pair of them were receiving.

"Oh, I _do_ apologise. How I sleep at night, I will never know, because my heart simply bleeds for you. However, if you had forgotten, you do have to live here for the next half of the year. So, if I were you, I would get used to it and be thankful for the practice."

"_Thankful?_" He scoffed. "The only time I will ever be thankful for anything that you do, Mudblood, is when you finally see sense and avada yourself."

"You could be waiting a while then."

"And do you muggles need so many fucking cars? I thought that they were supposed to be rare? You know, only the rich muggles owning them. I was almost hit five times! This place is a fucking death trap! This is absolutely ridiculous."

"Malfoy, I don't know where you have gotten that information from, but it is completely wrong. It sounds like you've been reading about the twentieth century."

"Shut it, Mudblood."

"Why didn't you get hit?"

"What?"

"By a car. Why didn't you get hit? It's such a shame..."

"Fucking Mudblood."

"You do know that that name lost its sting back in third year, right?"

"It's not supposed to sting, Granger. I'm just stating a fact."

"Right." Hermione rolled her eyes and took out a small notebook from her bag, quickly reading through its contents. Without warning, she began to walk away from the pissed off Slytherin. "Come on."

"Where the hell are we going now?"

"To the bank."

"Gringotts?" "Malfoy smirked and pulled a heavy sack of galleons from his coat. "I hardly think that's necessary. Though don't expect me to spend any of it on _you_-"

"I wouldn't dream of it." Hermione snatched the sack from his hands and threw it into her bag.

"That's theft! I could get you sacked for that! You can't just take my fucking money."

"I think you'll find that, actually, I can. _You_ are not allowed any money from mummy and daddy-"

"Whilst I'm serving my sentence! Which, if I remember rightly, doesn't start until tomorrow you stupid bint!"

"That's a new one, Malfoy. I'm impressed. And that money won't get you very far even if you were allowed to use it. Muggles don't have galleons, they have pounds. And we're going to a muggle bank, not Gringotts." Pulling out her purse, Hermione opened it and flashed a small piece of plastic in front of Malfoy's face. "Kingsley owled this to me this morning. It's a credit card. All the money you make in the muggle world will go into here via the bank. At the moment, it only has £100. That is about enough to get yourself the basics – food, drink, things like that - for when we move into the house tomorrow. However, you will receive no more money from the Ministry. You have to earn it yourself. _You_ will have to get a job."

"Yes, I know that. But, how the fuck does that... _thing_ fit money inside it? It's flat."

"It doesn't actually go inside it, you idiot! It's all done through technology. A bit like magic for muggles. They have these things called computers which hold every bit of information about the world that you could possibly imagine. They keep your details on them and transfer whatever money you make into your account. Then you use your card to buy things. Shops have card machines which you put your card into, you will be given a code which you will then enter into the machine and that will allow you to pay for things."

"I..."

"It's easy once you understand it. The bank will explain."

The walk was short and silent. Malfoy was at least two steps behind Hermione the whole way there. Heaven forbid he be seen in the company of the muggleborn. Though the amount of people that were bumping into him in the crowded centre of London was evidently irritating him. When Hermione stopped them before the double glass doors, she could almost feel Malfoy's grimace from behind her.

"It's tiny."

"There are millions of branches all over the world. And there are lots of different banks. This is just one of many. Gringotts is the only bank in the Wizarding world. And there is only one in Britain, in Diagon Alley, that's why it's so big." Hermione explained.

"And what the fuck is that?"

"That's a cash machine."

"What?"

"That's where you get the money from your card." At his blank look, Hermione sighed. "Watch me."

Hermione walked over to the cash machine and inserted the card into the slot, waiting for the machine to process it.

"What's a PIN number?"

"That's the code I was telling you about. Yours is 3821. Don't tell anyone, don't write it down in case you lose it. And don't forget it! Otherwise you're-"

"Fucked."

"I couldn't have put it anymore eloquently myself. You just type in the PIN number, like so, and your balance comes up. £100, see. Then you press this button here and choose how much you want to withdraw." Hermione pressed the button marked '£10' and then passed the money to Malfoy, though he was obviously making sure they didn't make skin-to-skin contact. "See."

Retrieving the card from the machine, Hermione turned to see Malfoy holding the note away from him as far as possible looking thoroughly repulsed.

"It's not diseased, Malfoy. It's a ten pound note. You could probably buy a days worth of food with it. Though to be brutally honest, it's not worth much in the current economy."

"It's all... _old_."

"Yes, well, it has been passed around the country. Probably more than once, so- don't throw it away, you stupid bloody ferret!"

After hearing of its history, Malfoy had been quick to dispose of the money, throwing it to the floor and watching as the wind gently blew it away. Hermione began to chase after it and was lucky enough to grab it before it reached a grid in the road, pocketing the note to make sure that it was safely away from him.

"You can't just throw money away! That's like throwing a sack of galleons down the sink!"

"It's just parchment, Granger. I could draw that up myself."

"And you can't just 'draw it up'! Muggle money is made a certain way. It can't be faked easily."

"Bollocks."

"Do you _have_ to swear so much?"

"It helps to emphasise my fucking point, Granger."

Shaking her head, Hermione entered the bank, gesturing for Malfoy to follow.

* * *

><p>"Did you really-"<p>

"Yes."

"She didn't even know what a Squib was!"

"I don't give a bloody fuck. She was testing my patience! Bloody muggles and their techonogy."

"_Technology_. And you can't just go around insulting muggles like this is the Wizarding world! This is a completely different society!" Hermione made an almost growling sound in frustration. "Everything you think you know, forget it! I can assure you, it will be wrong. You're so bloody useless! Merlin, you are worse than _Ronald_!"

"Don't start comparing me to the fucking Weasel. It's bad enough that I have to hang around with a Mudblood, I don't appreciate being degraded even further by being associated in any way to that blood traitor. Sorry excuse for a pureblood, I-"

"Oh, get over yourself, Malfoy! Maybe if you took your head out of your own arse for two minutes, you would actually get something out of all of this!"

"Yes, like a life sentence in St Mungo's."

"Ugh! I hate you!"

"Consider the feeling mutual, Granger."

"Come on! Let's get you a bloody job! At least then I can be rid of you for a couple of hours a day."

* * *

><p>"Cleaner? Fuck off."<p>

The tight looking man sat behind the desk of the job centre coughed awkwardly at Malfoy's language, forcing himself to keep working on whatever he was doing. It was quiet, Hermione noted, inside this building. Not like the bank which was always bustling with people. The man shuffled some papers and made his way to the back room, leaving her and Malfoy alone. It seemed even he could sense the argument that was on the horizon.

"Well, you're not exactly qualified for much."

"I have eight OWL's and five NEWT's!"

"And no GCSE's and no A levels."

"What the fuck are _they_?"

"Muggle qualifications. You can't really get much of a job without them. Muggles don't study magic, remember?"

"Then what do you study?"

"_I _studied what you studied. I'm a witch, Malfoy. A muggleborn _witch_. Not a muggle. And muggles study maths, english, science; those sorts of things. They learn more about the world than their own abilites..."

"They're idiots."

"They are not! I would love to see you learn half of the things that they know! Muggles are not stupid and they are not idiots! They have fought world wars, built societies and buildings and invented amazing things that the Wizarding world could never even dream of. And not one of them had the use of magic!"

"And? What do you want me to do, hand out medals?"

Hermione glared as harshly as she could at the blonde and grabbed the first card she could get her hands on. Whatever job this was, he would be doing it. She'd had enough of job hunting for the prejudiced prick for one day.

"Here. Telecommunications. You're doing it."

"What?"

"And no, you do not get a say. I'm in charge of you and I have it in writing. You are doing this job and you are going to like it, because we are getting out of here. Now!"

"I don't even know what it is, you silly cow!"

"And stop insulting me!"

"As if."

"Ugh! If I don't kill you within the next week, I swear to Godric that it will be a miracle!"

"Is that a challenge, Mudblood?"

"I would never lower myself, Malfoy."

* * *

><p>"Now what?"<p>

"We're getting the bus."

"The bus?"

"The bus."

"Like the Knight bus?"

"A bit. Sort of... Not really, no."

"Fan-fucking-tastic."

"We're going to view the house. I thought it'd be good for you to experience some muggle transport."

"_Good_ for me? Granger, fruit and veg is good for me. A massage after this day sent from the pits of Voldemort's grave would be good for me. Getting a bus with a shit load of muggles, however, I wouldn't exactly call _good for me_."

"Oh, stop complaining."

"I'm not complaining. I'm simply defending my rights as a human being."

"It's here now, so shut up and get on." Hermione thrust three pounds at him, only to be greeted with a hostile glance at her outstretched hand.

"Just take it! I'm a muggleborn, I haven't got leprosy! Merlin, help me..."

"I'm not touching you."

"You are absolutely pathetic! Are you honestly telling me that I have to pay you onto the bus like you are some sort of five year old?"

"If it means that I don't have to make physical contact with a Mudblood, yes."

"Go to hell, Malfoy."

Stepping onto the bus, Hermione paid the money to the driver and headed to the back to sit next to a young girl with headphones in. Good, she wouldn't have to speak to anyone and Malfoy would have to sit next to a muggle. Good.

Not good. Malfoy was making his way up to her, his face arranged into an expression of pure hatred. She knew that face. He was either going to hex her – or at least he would have, if he had had his wand – or scream at her.

"Don't you dare make a scene!" Hermione hissed at him as he sat in the seat behind her next to an old man.

"I'm going to murder you."

"And get your sentence extended? Go ahead."

"It would be worth it."

The death glare that Hermione sent his way seemed to stop any loud profanities from leaving Malfoy's mouth just yet. Unfortunately, the address that Kingsley had owled to Hermione that morning was at the very end of the bus route and it didn't look as if Malfoy's muttering was going to cease. She was suddenly extremely envious of the girl next to her with her earphones in. Especially as she made to get off the bus a mere five minutes into their journey.

As soon as Hermione had taken the girl's seat by the window, Malfoy sat down beside her. She waited for him to say something, make a snide remark, and yet all she was greeted with was silence as she watched him scowl at the space in front of him.

"Well...?"

"What now, Mudblood?"

"What are you doing here?"

"What do you think?"

"You _want_ to sit next to me? By choice?"

"Not particularly, no. But my options aren't exactly in great supply thanks to you turning my life to shit."

"Malfoy, _I_ didn't turn your life to shit. You did that all on your own."

"Yes, because you'd know all about my life, wouldn't you Granger?"

"I know enough."

"You don't know a _fucking_ thing!" He spat.

Hermione subconsciously recoiled from the intensity of his gaze. Not for the first time that day, he looked almost ready to kill. It didn't take a genius to figure out that she had touched a nerve. Even she knew her limits when it came to Malfoy.

The rest of the bus journey was carried out in awkward silence. Hermione had never been more relieved to arrive at a destination in her life. Reaching over to press the button, Malfoy looked at her for the first time since their argument.

"This is how the driver knows when to stop." She didn't receive a response.

Stepping off the bus, Hermione was pleasantly surprised by the scene before her. It was a quaint little suburban street, away from any main roads. The path was lined with classic London town-houses, each with their own front gardens filled with fresh saplings and blossoming flowers. It seemed as though the Ministry had truly outdone themselves considering the circumstances which had lead them to buy this house in the first place.

"Well, this is a load of crap." Malfoy remarked as the bus drove away, leaving the two of them alone.

"I like it."

"Well, you would."

"Yes, thank you, Malfoy." Hermione sighed, rolling her eyes at the brooding blonde beside her. "According to the letter I was sent this morning, our house is number thirteen."

"How ironic."

"Yes, well..."

"And do you have to say it like that? '_Our_ house'. Like we're living together by choice. Like you actually _enjoy_ it." He sneered at the mere idea, then turned to smirk at Hermione. "Or maybe you do. I know I'd love to spend six months with me. And I know plenty of girls who would-"

"Malfoy, is your ego _that_ big?"

"I'm simply stating the facts, Granger."

"Don't. Now, come on. I want to see the house."

Number thirteen was situated in the middle of the row of town-houses. It blended in well with the other houses. Nobody would ever have guessed that a witch and a wizard were about to move into it. The door was made of heavy wood and painted with a shiny black gloss. It reminded Hermione of ten Downing Street from when she had seen it on the news that her father would watch in the mornings when she was a child. If it wasn't for the fact that she would have to share it with Malfoy, she could really have loved this house.

"Do you want to do the honours?" Hermione asked, dangling the key in front of Malfoy.

"Piss off."

"Can't you at least_ pretend _to be civil?"

"Why?"

"Because... Well, I don't know. It has to be better than wearing out your list of insults. You never know, you could run out."

"Oh, did I hurt your _feelings_? And I thought you Gryffindor's were supposed to be brave." Malfoy laughed darkly. "Open the bloody door, Granger. I do have a life outside this sentence, you know? Let's get this over with."

"You are so vile!"

"How enlightening."

Deciding to ignore the hostile ferret, Hermione proceeded to unlock the front door. The house was... nice. More than nice, actually. The hallway was small and cosy and lead to multiple other rooms. She felt like a kid looking through the cupboards of a hotel room after arriving on holiday.

The first room she came across was the dining room. It was generously sized, much like the study across the hall. Next to the dining room was the living room which was filled with expensive looking furniture and a grand fireplace which dominated much of the space and yet still looked wonderful. The whole house appeared to have a very vintage theme about it. Every room smelled of dust and old books and, despite how she'd ended up here, Hermione loved it. Running out of the living room and attempting to stop herself from grinning like an idiot, she noticed that Malfoy hadn't moved from the door. She stopped on her way to the kitchen and turned to him, sighing.

"What is it now?"

"Will you stop fucking _smiling_? How can you be happy about this? I'm lumbered with you for six months! I feel like fucking topping myself." He sneered.

"We're supposed to be viewing the house and making sure it's suitable. Will you just stop being a miserable git for five minutes and do what you're bloody told?"

"I'm not doing anything that you tell me to do. You're not the fucking boss of me, Mud-"

"Actually, I am."

"_Tomorrow_. The sentence doesn't officially begin until _tomorrow_. So, if you don't mind, now that I unfortunately know where to find this shitty place, I think I'll go home."

"You haven't even looked around!"

"And why would I want to do that?" Malfoy laughed, a short, bitter laugh, his hand on the door handle.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe because you are going to be living here for the rest of the year!"

"I never chose to, Granger, I assure you." He opened the door and took a step outside, turning to scowl at Hermione one last time. "It was never my fucking choice." And on those final parting words, he slammed the door shut behind him, leaving Hermione stood in the hallway speechless.


	5. Relocation

**I enjoyed writing this chapter. I think I like dark Draco. Anyhow, here it is! Chapter 5. I really have to stop procrastinating when it comes to this story, I'm sorry. But thank you for reading it. I really do appreciate it. Oh, and let me know if I've made any mistakes. I'll admit, I'm lazy when it comes to checking chapters.**

**As always, I own nothing.**

* * *

><p>16th May 1998<p>

"I don't see why you bothered unpacking in the first place."

Hermione sighed. Today was the day. _That_ day. In little more than an hours time, she would be moving into a little town-house in muggle London with her sworn childhood nemesis. The prospect had never exactly thrilled her, even less so after her confrontation with him yesterday. Her attempts at staying positive were getting weaker by the second.

Harry and Ron hadn't helped the foul mood that she was currently suffering from either. She had floo'd the pair of twits earlier that morning, only to be greeted with idealistic assumptions that had left her utterly fuming. All she had wanted was a little help with her packing! However, Harry and Ron had immediately jumped to the conclusion that she had 'finally come to her senses', deciding not to go through with the job that Shacklebolt had personally assigned to her only days before. Hermione was shocked that her best friends really thought so little of her. Had they not paid attention to her at all during their six years at Hogwarts?

Fortunately, the youngest of the Weasley's had stepped in to make Hermione's life easier to bare. Despite the odd comment here and there on Malfoy's appearance, Ginny was the only one that seemed able to comprehend the motives behind Hermione's decision and respect them with her full support. Hermione was thankful to have her around and was trying her best not to think about having her leave for Hogwarts in three months time.

"Gin, I didn't exactly _know_ that I'd be moving out after a week to go and live with Malfoy. If I had, I assure you I wouldn't have wasted my weekend unpacking boxes."

"So, what would you have done? Drowned your sorrows with a tub of ice cream and stayed in bed wallowing, no doubt. And honestly, I don't see how that's much better."

"I do not wallow!"

"Whatever." Ginny gave a flick of her wand, closing the lid on the last box and sending it flying into the pile by the front door where Hermione was stood. "I've finished packing the kitchen. Anything else?"

"No, no... Actually, yes." Hermione whimpered. "You couldn't possibly move in with Malfoy for me, could you?"

Ginny gave a short laugh and dragged Hermione over to the sofa, pushing her down onto the leather seating in an attempt to get her to relax. She knew all too well and from personal experience that Hermione was no fun to handle when stressed.

"Nice try, but no. You've gotten yourself into this mess, you deal with it. Ron and Harry have already told you to speak to Shacklebolt about dropping out, and if I remember rightly, you told them to take their opinions and stick them up their-"

"Yes! Yes, I remember." Hermione glared at the red-headed girl. "I was angry, okay? They underestimate me! They assured me that they were okay with it and then utterly contradicted themselves."

"They're boys, what did you expect? They're just trying to look out for you. They care about you; they just have an... _odd_ way of showing it."

"Odd is one word for it, I suppose."

Hermione's gaze fell upon her empty flat and she did nothing to resist the frown that etched its way upon her features. She liked her flat. It was small, cosy, quiet. It had quick and easy connections to the Wizarding world. And, more to the point, it was free from Malfoy. She hadn't really been given a chance to settle in during the past week, and yet she was still certain that she was going to miss it. Well, its sanctuary at least. Her landlord had been far from pleased when she'd informed him of her situation, and she highly doubted that she would be getting her little home back any time soon. Hermione was suddenly brought out of her thoughts as Ginny jumped up and grabbed her hand, pulling her to her feet.

"Come on, better get a move on. Want me to help you set up house after we've moved this lot?" Ginny asked, gesturing to the pile of boxes.

"No, no, you've done more than enough for me today. Besides, I want to get accustomed to the house before I have to begin my toleration of Malfoy. I just hope to Merlin that he doesn't show up until later tonight."

"Of course he won't. My guess is that he's putting this off for as long as he's legally obliged to."

"Which doesn't give me much time at all." Hermione groaned.

Ginny's brows furrowed as she let go of her friend's hand and turned to look at the near empty flat.

"'Mione, what about the furniture?"

"It was never mine. It's my landlord's, it belongs to the flat. I doubt I'll be seeing it again." Hermione smiled sadly at her friend and shrugged. Ginny, who simply gave her an empathetic look, sighed and put her arm around the older girl's shoulders, guiding her towards the pile of boxes by the door.

"You know, you can always come and stay at the Burrow whilst you look for somewhere to live after this is over and done with."

"Thank you, Ginny. But honestly, after six months, I think I'll have enough money to buy a bloody mansion. Do you have any idea how much Shacklebolt is paying me for this job? I told him that it was too much. But, he's a stubborn man. My days of renting out flats are over, that's for sure." Seeing the disappointment on the Weasley's face, Hermione quickly picked up a box and turned to smile widely at her. "You can come house hunting with me, help me to pick one."

Immediately, Ginny's features lit up and she beamed at Hermione, following her lead and picking up another box.

"I'm looking forward to it already. I swear, 'Mione, the place will be like a palace. You'll love it."

"I'm sure I will, Gin. Now, can we load the car? I'm guessing that we need to have it returned before your dad notices you've taken it. The sooner my suffering begins, the sooner it can end, right?"

"Right. Just to clarify, I suppose I'll have to get in touch with the undertakers and arrange Malfoy's funeral within the next few days?"

"We'll see." Hermione laughed as they headed out of the flat.

* * *

><p>An hour and a half later, Hermione stood alone in the entrance hall of her new home which had become overwhelmed by cardboard box after cardboard box. As enthusiastic as Ginny had been to help her unpack, Hermione had insisted that she had done enough to help her out for one day and had sent the reluctant Weasley back to the Burrow. Though not after allowing her to run around judging her temporary accommodation. According to Ginny, the Ministry had exceeded her expectations and she had quickly made her approval known. Hermione couldn't agree more. Maybe if Malfoy could stop being such a git for five minutes, he'd be able to see it too.<p>

By happy chance, there was no sign of said house-mate. Hermione supposed that that was what they were now – reluctantly and far from willingly but, nevertheless, house-mate's. It appeared that Ginny had been correct in her assumptions. Malfoy seemed to be staying away for as long as was legally possible. For the first time in her life, Hermione was grateful to him.

It was barely midday. Everybody in Hermione's department was aware of the situation and Fletch had ordered her to stay away from the office whilst she dealt with Malfoy and settled into the house. She had put up a fight; she would much rather be in work, helping out. She knew from personal experience how hectic her job could be and to unload those burdens onto somebody else caused guilt to gnaw at her heartstrings.

However, she did have rather a lot to unpack. She was aware from the last time that the task could take her a good three or four hours, so maybe she should just be thankful for the spare time. Besides, the odds were that she wouldn't get another chance to appreciate the house without the presence of Malfoy.

Muttering a quick _wingardium leviosa, _Hermione followed the floating boxes labelled 'bedroom' up the staircase. After recovering from her encounter with Malfoy yesterday, she'd taken to exploring the second floor, finding it to be in the same pristine condition as downstairs. It was a truly beautiful house. And with the ferret still missing, Hermione was free to choose from any one of the three bedrooms available.

However, the facet that Hermione adored the most about this house was the library. The Ministry had taken the liberty to fill the shelves with every title imaginable and she was completely in her element. It was almost better than Hogwarts. The library was situated in the centre of the landing, two bedrooms to the right and a bedroom and bathroom to the left. Hermione never really had to think hard about which room to take.

Grasping the brass doorknob, Hermione threw open the heavy wooden door to her new room and continued to levitate her bedroom boxes inside. The room was perfect. It's extravagance had stunned her to the core the first time she had laid eyes upon it's contents, and it didn't fail to do so a second time. To the far left of the room, Hermione had what she'd always dreamed of – a set of double French doors leading onto a balcony overlooking her – _their_ – back garden. Yes, the Ministry truly had exceeded her expectations. And the rest of the room was just as beautiful. In the middle of the room was a magnificent four poster akin to the one she had occupied at Hogwarts, complete with canopy and silky white sheets. All of the necessary furniture had been given to her, all carved from glossy pine in intricate detail which gave the air around them a heavenly aroma. The creamy carpet felt exquisite beneath her bare feet as she wiggled her toes into the fabric. It was... _perfect, _like something out of Romeo and Juliet, which just so happened to be her favourite muggle classic. It was just a shame she'd have to tolerate Malfoy living a minimum of two rooms away.

Opening the box closest to her, Hermione bent down to pick out the small muggle device that had been placed conveniently on top of her belongings. Thanks to Ginny's organisation skills, it took her a good five minutes to untangle the wire and plug the object into the wall, placing it on top of a chest of drawers. Flicking the switch, music begin to drift from the speakers of the little radio. The comforting sounds soon caused the atmosphere to shift and as she started unpacking her possessions, Hermione finally began to feel at home.

* * *

><p>Five hours had passed when Hermione heard the front door slam followed by a string of disgruntled mutterings. She had finished unpacking hours ago, and after piling up the empty boxes in the hallway, she had settled into the living room with a book from the library, bringing down her radio to quietly play in the background. Folding the page, Hermione placed the novel onto the coffee table and waited for the inevitable meeting between her and the git that had just entered the house. Sure enough, Malfoy's head popped around the door after a matter of seconds, his gaze landing on Hermione who was curled up on the leather sofa.<p>

"Mudblood." He nodded.

"Ferret."

"You going to move your shit?"

"What _shit_? I've unpacked everything. Speaking of unpacking, where are your things?"

"They'll be here." He shrugged. "And I'm talking about the crap that you've left hanging around in the hall. Shift it, Granger."

"You can't just come in here and start bossing me around! _I'm_ supposed to be in charge of _you_! And what do you mean by 'they'll be here'?"

"Just do it. And they will."

"Sod off, Malfoy."

To Hermione's surprise and utmost pleasure, Malfoy did as he was told. Granted, it was a first, but he had listened to her. She merely sat there, stunned. She couldn't really comprehend the action. Moments after his arrogant face had disappeared, there was a resounding _crack_ coming from the kitchen. And another. And another. In fact, there were multiple _cracks_. Hermione knew that sound. She knew it very well. Jumping up off the sofa as if it had burnt her, she practically sprinted into the kitchen to be met with a sight that could have easily led to Malfoy's death.

"What, in the name of Merlin, do you think you are doing?" She screamed at him, resulting in several faces turning to peer up at her.

"Moving in." He stated nonchalantly, barely acknowledging her presence.

There, in her own kitchen, were eight house elves, all carrying – or rather, balancing - multiple boxes filled to the brim with the blonde's things. Hermione immediately took out her wand. Giving a flick, the boxes all dropped to the ground and the elves synchronously looked to their master for instructions on what to do next.

"Send them back! Now!" Hermione cried.

"If you've broken something valuable with your-"

"Now Malfoy! Or I swear, I'm going straight to Shacklebolt and you'll be sharing a cell in Azkaban with one of your little pals for the night."

As quickly as they had appeared, the elves vanished before her and Hermione was left alone with a fuming Malfoy and a kitchen full of aristocratic belongings. Kicking the boxes aside, Malfoy strode over to where Hermione stood by the threshold.

"You can't threaten me whenever something doesn't go your way, you know that Mudblood?" He sneered.

"I know that perfectly well, thank you very much. However, I do have every right to threaten you when you barge in here with a flock of house elves. You _know_ that you're not allowed contact with the Wizarding world from today onwards and it's my job to report any failure to follow the rules."

"A _flock_? Since when did house elves come in _flocks_?"

"Does it matter? The point is-"

"The point is that you don't fucking own me, Granger! You're here to observe me, nothing more."

"I'm here to keep you in line. I'm here to keep you from exposing our whole bloody world! And up to yet, I'm not doing a very good job of it. I can't believe I left you to it! I should have had someone from the Ministry escort you, I should have-"

"Shut the fuck up, Granger! Salazar help me, it's been five minutes and I already want to murder you."

"It could be messier than you're used to, what with having no wand and all. You'd have to do it by hand. Imagine all that dirty blood infecting your superior purity."

"You think you're clever, don't you Mudblood?"

"I like to think so, yes. Cleverer than you, either way."

"Naivety will be the death of you, Granger."

"And what, exactly, is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that you're a Mudblood. You think you know all there is to know about magic. About _my_ world. But you have no fucking idea." He spat. "Just because you spend every waking moment with your head stuck in the pages of some shitty book, trying desperately to become one of us, it doesn't mean that-"

"Shove it, Malfoy." Hermione hissed. "Because I'm not the one stuck in the muggle world. And it's certainly not my face thrown all over the front page of the _Prophet _because everybody in our world wants me thrown into Azkaban for the rest of my life. Taking that into account, I'd say I know a damn right more than you do right now."

Malfoy simply stood there, grinning sardonically with that same patronizing glint in his eye. Hermione was sure that she had never hated anyone more. Well, Voldemort was certainly up there at number one, however Malfoy was quickly catching up to him.

"Bring the boxes up, Granger." He smirked, shoving past her and heading up the stairs without so much as a backwards glance.

Hermione could do nothing but stand and gawk at the spot Malfoy had occupied moments before. Letting out a growl of frustration, she spun and followed him up the stairs, only to find the door to her room thrown wide open.

"Get out of my room!"

"I think you'll find it's my room now. Get your stuff out, you can stay next door."

"Malfoy, get out! I was here first. You didn't even bother to look around the house yesterday and then you turn up hours late on the day that your sentence actually begins. You can't just come in here and then expect me to accommodate to all of your needs." She seethed. "There are two other rooms which are perfectly suitable. Go and choose one and get the hell out of mine!"

"Did you bring my stuff up?"

"No, I did not! You are more than capable of doing it yourself!"

"Just do it for me, Granger."

"No!"

"Do it!"

"I will not! I'm not your personal bloody slave!"

"You're as good as."

"Excuse me?"

"I said you're as good as." Malfoy derided. "That's all you Mudblood's are good for. You're barely above that of the house elves."

"You are utterly vile!"

"As are you."

"Just remember who has the wand, okay Malfoy? Because I assure you, I won't be sent to Azkaban for using it."

"Stop fucking threatening me!"

"Then stop treating me like vermin!"

"Vermin... That's a good one. I'll remember it for our next meeting."

"There won't be a next meeting if you carry on."

"Fuck off, Granger."

"This is my room!" Hermione screamed.

"_Was_ your room. Past tense."

"That's it!" She cried exasperatedly.

Hermione marched up to Malfoy who was still stood in the middle of _her _room. She didn't hesitate in grabbing the back of his collar and physically dragging him out of the door, taking advantage of the shock marring his features. She used her wand to quickly shut the door behind them and took a stand in front of it, determined that he wouldn't be getting back inside.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"Removing you from my room."

"Mudblood scum." He chided.

"You are an exact replica of your father, you know that?"

Hermione was surprised to find herself pinned forcefully to the door by Malfoy's body as he gripped her tightly. Too tightly. All of her anger disappeared in an instant to be replaced by a determined fear as she looked into his murderous gaze.

"You're going to regret that, Mudblood."

"Get off me!"

"You think you can fucking_ touch_ me? You think you can fucking boss me around as if you're superior to _me_?" He laughed, short and bitter, and Hermione couldn't stop herself from flinching. She could feel the tips of his fingers digging painfully into the flesh of her upper arms and she was positive there would be bruises there tomorrow.

"Malfoy, you're hurting me. Stop!"

"You're a joke, Granger." He spat.

"Malfoy-"

"You think you're so fucking clever! But, I can assure you Mudblood, your witty comments aren't going to get you far anymore."

"Let go of me, Malfoy!"

"And you can keep your fucking room. I don't want it anyway. Not after you've been tainting the bedsheets."

With one last, hard shove, Malfoy turned and headed back down the stairs paying little to no attention to the terrified girl left gawking at his retreating form. Hermione waited until he was completely out of sight before she threw open the door and launched herself inside, locking it behind her. The task itself was difficult as she couldn't stop her wand hand from shaking. She knew what he was like, she'd known him long enough to know that he wasn't exactly the gentlest of human beings. But, she'd never expected him to physically hurt her like that.

Hermione had underestimated him. And the thought scared her half to death.


	6. Learning

**Why? Why do I procrastinate for a week and then write out a whole chapter at 1am? Because I'm an idiot, I know. I wanted to get it done tonight because I have so much coursework to do this weekend and I think I might actually die, so I'm sorry if it seems rushed. However, most of my chapters are made this way, so...**

**As always, thank you for all your lovely responses. I love you all, I really do.**

**I wish I did, but I own nothing.**

* * *

><p>17th May 1998<p>

As Hermione had expected him to, Malfoy had taken up refuge in the room farthest from her own. She hadn't been able to find the strength to abandon the safe silence of her bedroom since the incident the night before. Sleep was quickly becoming a distant dream and as she watched the clock strike five-thirty, she finally opened the door. She didn't fail to notice the pile of empty boxes that Malfoy had left sitting dangerously at the top of the stairs. Whether he had done this on purpose or not was another matter altogether.

She had had plenty of time to think, to dwell on the evenings events in the confines of the darkness that the night had brought her. However, her mind felt muggy. Her thoughts were merging together, becoming nothing but a splitting headache that was only exacerbating the whole situation. If there was one thing that would help her to think, it was a long, hot shower. Besides, she may as well take advantage of the opportunity. She presumed that Malfoy spent rather a long time using the bathroom in the mornings.

Hermione winced slightly as she slipped out of her pyjamas and into the running water. Even the barely-there sensation of the droplets hitting her skin felt amplified. Glancing down, her suspicions were confirmed; from her shoulders down to her elbows, bruises were scattered along her pale flesh like rose petals. And there were more. A few on her ribs from where he had pressed into her too hard. A bump on the back of her head from when he had pushed her into the bedroom door with a little too much force. Gryffindor or not, the damage Malfoy had been able to inflict proved that she had every right to be scared of him.

So, why wasn't she? She was angry. More so than anything else she could feel. Every time the slimy git entered her thoughts, uninvited and unwelcome, she was overwhelmed with the urge to march straight into his room and smother him with his own pillow. How dare he treat her that way? He was completely and utterly out of order! And if the Ministry were to find out about his assault on her, surely they would extend his sentence.

And so she was left with a tricky, most complicated predicament. She could go to the Ministry that very morning, head straight into Shacklebolt's office and have Malfoy rightly punished for his behaviour towards her. And yet, to have his sentence extended would result in her time with him being extended in turn. He was her responsibility. And she was to stay with him until the end.

Six months was more than enough, thank you very much. Hermione was unsure of how she would cope with the prat for that long. To willingly increase the period of time spent in his presence would be entirely foolish. Her bruises would fade in time and, so long as she resisted the temptation to sink to his level, she could deal with the likes of Draco Malfoy.

Shaking herself from her thoughts, she turned off the water and stepped out of the shower to pull a fluffy, white towel around herself. It was cold away from the shelter of the warm water and Hermione made a mental note to turn on the heating as soon as she got downstairs; Merlin knew Malfoy wouldn't know how. And, judging by the sounds of movement outside the room, the foul git had woken up.

"Get the fuck out of there, Granger!" Malfoy shouted, pounding his fists on the door.

Hermione didn't bother to grace his request with a reply, let alone a reaction. Casting a quick drying charm on her hair, she took a glance at her towel-clad body in the full length mirror hung upon the wall. It certainly looked worse than it was from this angle, though the bruises were easy enough to cover with clothes. Good – she'd always hated glamour charms. However, Malfoy's banging didn't cease. She doubted that the door could take much more of his abuse and wisely made the decision to open it.

"Hurry up!" He cried, kicking the wood with all his might. "Come on, Granger! I need a piss!"

"Eloquent as always, Malfoy." Hermione rolled her eyes as she opened the door and pulled the towel tighter around herself, though she refused to step aside.

"Move Mud-"

"Ouch!" Hermione cried, glancing down at the arm he was grasping.

"Bruise easily, don't you Granger?" Malfoy smirked as he followed her gaze to the fingerprint shaped bruises.

"Shut your mouth, Malfoy! You're bloody lucky I don't take this to the Ministry."

"Empty threats." Malfoy laughed, brushing the notion away with a wave of his hand.

"And how sure are you about that, exactly?"

"Sure enough. Now move. And put some clothes on for Merlin's sake. It's bad enough that I have to look at you when you're covered up."

With one short shove, Hermione was standing on the landing, bathroom door slammed shut before her. He was absolutely insufferable! Did he have no remorse at all? She took a deep breath to calm herself before she headed back into her bedroom to get dressed. It would be nice to get away from him, to get back to some form of normality. She'd never been more excited to get to work in her life.

* * *

><p>The kitchen was empty. There wasn't a morsel or a crumb in sight and Hermione's stomach growled in protest. Merlin help her, she'd have to take Malfoy to the local supermarket soon. That was certainly a daunting task. It seemed that the ferret didn't take as long in the bathroom as Hermione had assumed he would. Heavy footfalls could be heard on their way to the kitchen, followed by a soggy, blonde head rounding the kitchen door.<p>

"No drying charm today, Malfoy? Your hair is positively dripping-"

"Shut up!" He spat, heading straight for the cupboards behind her.

She saw him grimace upon the reveal of their lack of food from her seat at the kitchen table and instinctively jumped into an explanation. "There's no food in. Or drinks for that matter. We haven't been shopping. I wanted to go after we viewed the house, to stock up for when we moved in yesterday but, _somebody_ decided against _that_ idea when they decided to throw a tantrum."

"Don't we have some sort of maid? A servant or something?"

"No, we do not." Hermione rolled her eyes. "Malfoy, I've been over this with you. As have the Ministry. You know-"

"I said shut up."

"But you asked-"

"Don't you have a job to go to?"

"Yes, actually. As do you."

"Me?" He choked.

"Yes, you. You start work today."

"And you didn't tell me, why exactly? Fucking hell, Granger!"

"Well, it's not exactly work, but you have your interview and training class. I made you a booklet full of everything you need to know. It's on the coffee table in the living room. Just stick to the guidelines I have so _kindly_ provided and you'll get the job. I hope."

"Booklet? _Guidelines_? Granger, what- I don't- _what the fuck_?"

"I did tell you about this after we left the job centre. It isn't my fault that you never pay attention."

"But, I don't even know what the job is! What the hell am I supposed to do?"

"That's what the training class is for. And the booklet will help you to pass the interview. The Ministry has taken care of all the necessary documents." Hermione stood from her chair, making her way out of the kitchen. "I suggest that you read it. It has the address on the front and you have to be there by eight-thirty."

Malfoy stood, open mouthed and stunned, as he watched her leave the room. It didn't take him long to run after her.

"Granger, you can't just fuck off and leave me!" He yelled as he watched her put on her coat. "Where are you going? You can't just-"

"I have work. And I'm going to get some breakfast on the way since there's nothing in this house."

"Don't you fucking dare walk out of that door. I don't know what I'm doing! I don't want anything to do with this!"

"You don't have a choice. It's part of your sentence. And if you think that I'm going to take time off work to help you after what happened yesterday, you must be more deluded than I thought."

"I swear to Merlin, Granger. If you-"

"I'll see you later."

In the blink of an eye, the front door was shutting behind her and Hermione was on her way to work. It gave her some satisfaction to know that she'd left behind a panic stricken and clueless Malfoy.

* * *

><p>Unfortunately, with the time that she had taken off, Hermione's work load had significantly increased. Seemingly overnight. Fletch had assured her that her absence had been barely noticeable and that things had been working smoothly without her. Yet his dishevelled appearance and weary features told another story. Fortunately, Hermione was good at her job. The best, in fact. And by the time lunch break had crept upon the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, she had completed over half of the files given to her that morning.<p>

As lovely a day as it was, Hermione decided that she would rather walk to the small café in Diagon Alley than apparate. She was meeting Harry and Ron for lunch. Apparently, they were somewhat regretting their approach to the Malfoy situation the previous day and wanted desperately to make it up to her. Hermione was in no position to argue. She needed her best friends at a time like this, lest she go mad.

"Hermione!"

As always, Harry and Ron had already found them a table and Hermione hurried over. Settling into her seat, she could sense that her friends were practically bristling with eagerness. Ron was fidgeting in his chair and she was sure that Harry let out a small squeal as she took off her coat.

"What?" She snapped.

"So?" Ron prompted.

"So what, Ronald?"

"How is it?" Him and Harry asked simultaneously.

"Oh, you know... Malfoy's Malfoy." Hermione answered hesitantly, focusing all of her attention on the menu placed conveniently in front of her.

"Right... well, that's... _informative_."

"Four syllables, Ron! I'm impressed."

Silence quickly overcame the three as Hermione, quite obviously, refused to make eye contact with the boys. Harry looked over to Ron who simply shook his head and shrugged.

"You're still angry, aren't you?" Harry asked.

"Of course not." Hermione laughed humourlessly, her voice rising an octave with each word that left her mouth. "I mean, why would I be angry? My two best friends only told me that they were okay with my job assignment and then entirely contradicted themselves two days later when I asked them for help! Now why, pray tell, would that make me angry? Because, Merlin knows, I haven't the faintest idea!"

"Sorry." Ron mumbled.

"Excuse me, Ronald?"

"I said sorry. You know, we are, right Harry?"

"Yeah. It was just a bit of a shock, coming to terms with you living with Malfoy and stuff. We just need some time to adjust..."

"_You_ need some time to adjust? Godric help me! You are both utterly useless! At least it isn't you who has to _live_ with the foul creature!"

"Foul creature?" Ron snorted.

"This is _not_ funny, Ronald!"

"No, no it's not."

"Look, Hermione, we really are sorry. It was just a shock, you know? We didn't think either of you would go through with it. We hate each other for Merlin's sake! We always have. He bullied you all the way through Hogwarts, he made fun of Ron and me. He's a Death Eater!" Harry explained.

"I know. And that's why I'm doing this. I'm not scared of him, Harry. And I want to make sure that he gets what he deserves. Heaven knows he has it coming to him..." Hermione trailed off as the red head to her left cleared his throat loudly.

"So, are we friends?" Ron asked tentatively.

"We'll always be friends." Hermione smiled.

"Great!" He beamed, his eyes shifting to his menu. "Now, can we order food? I'm bloody starving."

"Yes. Yes, we can." Hermione laughed.

As usual, Ron ordered everything the menu had to offer. Minus the salad, of course. It wasn't until he had a mouth full of roast potato that Harry turned back to Hermione.

"How is it really?"

"What?"

"You know what."

Hermione blushed and took a deep gulp of her pumpkin juice. Harry's gaze didn't falter and she sighed knowingly. He wasn't about to drop the subject. And the chances were he never would until she gave him a reasonable answer.

"It's... okay," She sighed, smiling meekly. "He's not exactly the most pleasant person to share a home with, as I'm sure you can imagine. And he swears an awful lot! I thought Ronald was bad..."

"Bu', your ohay, 'ight?" Ron asked through a mouthful of food.

"Yes, thank you Ron. I'm fine."

"Has he hurt you?" Harry asked suddenly, catching her off guard.

"What-why would you ask that?" Hermione panicked, her face paling. How could he know? He couldn't. It was impossible. "Of course he hasn't hurt me! He wouldn't- he can't! I have my magic, remember? And he doesn't have his. He wouldn't dare. He just wouldn't risk it, you know that!"

"He has, hasn't he?" Harry's eyebrows furrowed. "I didn't think he actually- I was just asking for the sake of asking! But he really has, hasn't he Hermione?"

"No! Harry, you-"

"I'll kill him!" Ron choked out.

"No! No, no! You've both got it-"

"You're a terrible liar, Hermione. Always have been. What did he do?"

"I'll hex his bloody balls off. That slimy, twisted ferret!" Ron shouted, resulting in a few heads to turn their way.

"Look, it's nothing! Nothing happened! You are both overreacting completely!"

She knew that they were far from joking. Ron would not hesitate to hex Malfoy in some way or another at any chance he got. He'd been looking for an excuse since the slug incident in second year. Harry, though he was undeniably the most understanding of the two, would happily help Ron along if it was considered an appropriate situation.

"I used my magic on him!" Hermione lied quickly. "We got into a fight. I got angry. He called me a Mudblood and I just lost it. I hexed him and he sort of... pushed me. It was self defence, it was all my fault. I brought it all on myself. Please don't do anything, you'll only exacerbate things for the both of us."

"I don't care who started it. If he touched you- _hurt_ you! 'Mione, I swear to Merlin, just give the word and I'll bloody-"

"Ronald, no, please!" She begged. "Just leave it. I can handle Malfoy, honestly. It's fine."

"You shouldn't be near him. You shouldn't have to share the same air as him, let alone a house!" Harry seethed.

"Harry, please." Hermione dropped her head into her hands and took a shaky breath. "Both of you, just stop. Don't even think about doing anything. I have it all under control, everything's okay. I don't need you two making the situation worse. Malfoy's bitter enough about living with me without you interfering."

"Hermione, we just want you to be safe!" Harry insisted.

"And to have a chance to try out the killing curse." Ron interjected.

"Ron! And I know, Harry. But it's fine, really." Hermione looked at her watch and raised her eyebrows in what was, hopefully, a shocked expression. "Look, I have to go. I'm really late-"

"No you're not!" Ron scoffed.

"No, really, I have to go. I have a meeting at Azkaban. I have to check up on a couple of cases and fill in the reports. I'm really sorry, but I'm fine and I promise that I'll keep you updated." By now she had already dropped her money onto the table and was half way towards the door. "I'll see you later on this week and fill you in."

"You haven't even finished your food!"

"Goodbye!" And with a nervous sigh of relief, she slipped out of the door and into the busy crowds of Diagon Alley.

* * *

><p>What Hermione had told Harry and Ron hadn't been a complete lie. She really did have a meeting with Azkaban's head guard. She had never been to the Wizarding prison before and to say that the visit had been numbingly terrifying was certainly an understatement. As she kicked off her shoes and threw her keys into the bowl by the door, Hermione concluded that she would take living in this house with Malfoy over that deathly place any day. It was hardly a difficult decision. It made Malfoy's screams of abusive profanities coming at her from the living room feel almost welcoming.<p>

"You absolute bitch!" Malfoy sneered as she entered the living room and fell onto the sofa.

"Not now, Malfoy. I've had just about enough for one day without a string of insults from you."

"Where the fuck did you send me? It took me three hours to find that pissing building! And then when I finally arrived there were buttons. On the door. Buttons! What in the name of Salazar was that all about? And don't even get me started on the bloody interview. I haven't the faintest idea what you've signed me up for, but I got the job. And then there was the training! Fucking hell! They threatened to sack me on the spot if I didn't show improvements by tomorrow morning. I don't fucking know how to use muggle communication-"

"You mean telephones?"

"I don't give a fuck what they're called, Granger! They're absolute bollocks-"

"Eloquent."

"And them metal boxes!" He had begun to pace the perimeter of the living room by this point. "The ones with the buttons and the little round thing on the plastic string-"

"Computers, Malfoy."

"Whatever. What the pissing hell are they all about? How am I supposed to learn how to use them by tomorrow morning? You can kiss that job goodbye, Granger. There's no way I'm keeping it-"

"You don't have a choice! I have told you this a million times! You need that job to live, Malfoy. I need you to have that job so that I can keep mine. Shacklebolt will have my head if you mess this-"

"Not my problem! I can't do it. They told me I'm sacked if I don't improve, and somehow I don't see that happening. And- where are you going now? Don't fucking walk away from me!"

Hermione ignored his protests and continued her way out of the living room and towards the study, Malfoy close behind her and muttering under his breath.

"This is the study, Malfoy. You won't have seen it, what with you refusing to accept the fact that you live here now. But, believe it or not, this is ours to use whenever we please." Hermione gestured to the desk, surprised to find the blonde quiet. "That is a computer. That is a telephone. You'll be required to use them in your work-"

"That's what I've just been saying you fuck wit."

"Yes, quite." Hermione sighed, making her way over to the swivel chair behind the desk. "Come here."

"What?" He scoffed, edging further away from the desk.

"You need this job. I need you to have this job. Your sentence requires you to have this job and your job requires you to know how to use computers and telephones. I'm going to teach you."

"Teach me? You?"

"Me. Teach you. Yes. Now come here."

Reluctantly and more than hesitantly, he made his way to stand behind her and the desk and Hermione cocked an eyebrow at the unnecessary distance he had put between them.

"You're not going to catch anything from me, you know? If that were the case, then I think you would have caught it last night when you attacked me."

"I did not_ attack_ you! You wound me up. I was simply putting you in your place."

"That's not how the Ministry sees it."

"You told them then? Fucking hell, Granger. Well done. You've just made it worse for-"

"Oh, be quiet. I didn't tell them. We're not all as thick as you. I hardly want your sentence extended anymore than you do, believe me."

"Well, at least you did something right."

"I sense a compliment in there somewhere." She smiled slightly.

"Keep wishing, Mudblood." Malfoy sneered.

Shaking her head, she picked up the telephone and handed it to Malfoy. He instinctively flinched away from the foreign object at first, but after some small encouragement, took it from her hand.

"This is a telephone."

"I know. They showed me at training. Something about buttons."

"Yes. You use the buttons to type in a sort of code – a telephone number. It's much like the PIN code that I showed you with your credit card, only with more numbers. For example, our phone number is 207 8823. When other people want to ring us – use their phone to contact our phone – they dial that number into their phone and our phone, _well_, rings. Then one of us picks it up, holds it to our ear with the wire – the stringy thing – at the bottom, and we speak into it. That way, we can hear what the other person has to say and vice versa. When we're finished, we simply place the telephone back into place and the call ends, leaving the phone ready to ring again."

"Right..." Malfoy trailed off, still clearly confused.

"Here, try this." Hermione offered. "This isn't really a conversation, just a recording. But it's good practice for when you try to ring someone. Here, press the buttons and type in 123. Hold the phone to your ear, make sure it's the right way around."

"Like this?" He asked, holding the phone to his ear.

"Yes, good. Now, type in the number – 123."

Warily, Malfoy did as instructed and his eyes widened as another voice drifted through the speaker at his ear. Hermione laughed lightly and he glared at her in turn.

"Erm... hello?" He shouted into the phone.

"No, no, you don't need to shout. Just talk. And it can't hear you, it's just a recording. Like an audio memory of past speech. _That_ is the speaking clock. It just tells the time which is shown on Big Ben. Now, try and hang up – end the conversation by putting down the phone."

Again, he followed Hermione's instructions and smirked when the phone slotted into place.

"That was good. Though, it will be harder when you have to do it for real. It would be good if somebody would ring us, that way you could practice..."

"Shame we're from the Wizarding world then, isn't it?" Malfoy rolled his eyes, sarcasm thick in his voice. "Look, telephones are a piece of piss-"

"Can't you just stop swearing for five minutes?"

"I can use telephones. It's _them_... They're just not natural." Malfoy continued, ignoring her question and gesturing to the computer.

"Ah, yes. Well, I think you'll rather like this one-"

"Not likely." He laughed bitterly.

"Give it a chance, they're really quite clever. They're a brand new invention. Muggles are only just getting used to owning them themselves, so you're not alone." Hermione explained. "Okay, step one, turning it on-"

"I'd rather turn on Parkinson." Malfoy scowled.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake..."

"Granger, I can do this. They showed us this at training; you just press that button there. What comes after that though..."

"Let me guess, you have no idea?"

"Something like that." He admitted.

"It's really quite simple once you get used to it. Though we do need to set a password for ours."

"Stop saying that! We do not own anything together, Granger. I don't want to associate myself with your kind, understand? This sentence changes nothing."

"I didn't mean it in that way! I just-"

"Well, just don't, okay?"

"Oh, sod off." Hermione murmured. "Look, it's loaded now – it's ready to use. Now, this round thing on a string, as you so put it, is the mouse. It's not an actual mouse, muggles just call it that because it looks like the animal."

"It looks nothing like a mouse. Muggles are a bunch of fucking idiots."

"Malfoy, really, I'm warning you... Now, it's used to move this little arrow about on the screen and the buttons are used to click the icons. This opens up different programmes – activities and tasks – on the computer. For example, if I move the mouse to the start icon and click the left button, it opens up the menu. Then you choose the programme you want from the menu. I'm going to open up Word, it's the simplest programme. It's basically like a blank piece of parchment on the screen. Then, using the keyboard – this board here with the lettered buttons on – you type in words to form whatever it is you want to say. Think of it as your quill and ink."

"This is..."

"Amazing?"

"Fucking creepy."

"Well, that's... Anyway, here, try it. Take the mouse in your hand and move it so that the arrow hovers over the icon named Word. Then, using your finger, click the left button."

Though it took a good couple of minutes, Malfoy eventually got there and managed to open up an empty word document, seemingly pleased with himself. Stepping back to admire his work, Hermione let out a giggle.

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing at all. It's just that that's the easy part. Now, why don't you try typing your name? Just press the letters you need and press the long button – the space bar – to create, well, a space between your words." When Malfoy didn't move and continued to stare at her blankly, Hermione sighed. "Watch." And he did watch as she typed in her own name. "Now, you try."

Slowly, he gave it a go. Nearly five minutes later, he had successfully typed his name onto the screen.

"Easy." He grinned, smugly.

"Yes, well, we haven't even started on the internet yet."

"The what?"

"Precisely." She groaned.

Hermione tutored Malfoy for at least two hours. She was patient and a good teacher and he learned rather quickly considering his background and lack of knowledge on the subjects at hand. He'd complied to her instructions obediently and, to Hermione's own shock, they had worked well together. They'd almost been civil. At least, they would have been, if it wasn't for how it had ended.

"I've got no food." Malfoy stated suddenly as Hermione switched off the computer.

"I know, we haven't been shopping. I told you that this morning."

"Well, why didn't you go?"

"Because it isn't my job, Malfoy. It's your job. The Ministry put some money into your bank account the day your sentence was issued, just to start you off. You know that. You were supposed to use it to go shopping."

"I don't know how."

"You're supposed to learn, that's the whole point of this."

"Just go and get some food, Granger. I'm fucking hungry."

"No! I've told you, it's not my job. You should have this all sorted out by now. And, unlike you, I used my common sense and stopped off for something to eat on the way home from work. If you didn't eat anything, then that's your fault."

"Fucking hell, Granger, just go out and get something."

"Get lost, Malfoy." She replied, pushing past him to get down the stairs. It came as no surprise that he followed her.

"I haven't eaten in over twenty-four hours! I need something to eat!"

"Then go and get something. You have the money, it's only seven o'clock, get a take away or something."

"What the fucking hell is a take away?"

"It's food that you order over the telephone. It gets delivered to your door."

"Do it then."

"No, do it yourself."

"I don't know how! Fucking hell, Mudblood! Can't you understand? I. Don't. Know. How. I'm a wizard for Merlin's sake."

"You're supposed to figure it out, that's why we're here! Research! I am not your house elf, Malfoy. I'm not here to serve you and make sure you're fed and watered every minute of the day. That is not my job. I'm here to make sure you serve your sentence, nothing more."

"You're so fucking useless."

"Yes, well, at least I'm not the one going to bed on an empty stomach."

"Bitch!" He spat.

"Foul git!"

"Prude!"

"Coward!"

Yet again, Hermione found herself pushed up against a door frame. Only this time, in the kitchen.

"What was that, Mudblood?"

"Get off me, Malfoy. Now!"

"What have I told you about delving into things that you don't understand, Granger?" He snarled, his face mere inches from her own. His eyes were almost black and his grip was getting tighter the more she tried to wriggle free.

"You're absolutely insane! I didn't say anything!"

"I've warned you before. You just don't listen do you?"

"And I've warned you before too, Malfoy. It seems we have the same inability to heed the others warnings."

Hermione had somehow managed to reach into her jacket and pull out her wand. It didn't take anymore than a quick _impedimenta _to have Malfoy flying into the kitchen cupboards behind him. He blinked a few times then looked up at her, glaring darkly, as she held her wand outstretched.

"I told you not to touch me, Malfoy. I warned you. And I swear to Merlin, if it happens again I will have your sentence transferred to Azkaban. Are we clear?"

"Crystal." He hissed, pushing up from the ground and making his way out of the room without so much as a backwards glance.

As soon as she heard his bedroom door slam shut, Hermione dropped into the nearest chair, resting her elbows on the kitchen table and her face in her hands. He was the most impossible boy she had ever met.

However, Hermione and the impossible seemed to have been crossing paths all too frequently ever since her eleventh birthday. Why should they stop for her now?


	7. Melting

**So... Chapter 7. I don't really like this one. It was meant to be a sort of fun, bonding chapter, but it's really short and I'm suffering badly from writers block. I feel like Draco and Hermione were a bit OOC.**

**Also, I break up for Christmas on Wednesday, so I'll try to update this story more frequently. Maybe 2 or 3 chapters a week? It's only for 2 weeks but, we'll see. :)**

**Insert my never ending gratitude for all of your responses so far here.**

**As always, I own nothing.**

* * *

><p>19th May 1998<p>

Hermione used to love the weekend. She used to revel in the hours of spare time at Hogwarts in which she could finish her school work and go shopping in Hogsmeade with Harry and Ron. Yet when her weekends were planned out to consist entirely of Malfoy's company, her view of them tended to change slightly. Especially when said pain in the arse was banging down her bedroom door at eight o'clock on a Saturday morning.

"Granger, get up!" The arrogant aristocrat called out. He appeared to have taken a liking to abusing the doors around the house, whether it be the bathroom or her bedroom, and he showed no signs of stopping any time soon. "Bloody hell, you can't be asleep! Get out, you said you'd get me food today!"

"Go back to bed! It's Saturday. It's too early!" Hermione cried back at him from underneath her duvet.

"I'm starving! I'm not going to that pissing café again for breakfast, I-"

"Get lost, Malfoy! I'm trying to sleep!"

"And I'm hungry!"

Reluctantly, when it became apparent that his banging wasn't going to cease, Hermione managed to drag herself from the comfort of her bed; though she didn't fail to bring the duvet with her.

"You look pathetic." Malfoy stated when she threw open the door to be greeted with his signature brooding look.

"And you sound like a bloody five year old." She snapped. "_You said you'd get me food. Granger, I'm hungry, come and feed me because I couldn't possibly dream of having the ability to fend for myself_."

"I can't tell you I've heard that many impressions of myself Granger, but I have to say, that one tops them all." He smirked patronizingly at her. "So, are we going shopping or what?"

The only reply he received was an undignified grunt as Hermione shoved past him, making her way downstairs with the duvet still wrapped tightly around her body. It was hardly surprising to her that Malfoy followed, continuing his protests and insisting that he was about to starve to death.

"You're the most melodramatic person I have ever met, you know that? You ordered half of the dishes on the menu at that café last night. And I know, because I had to sit there and watch you eat it. It's up there in the top ten worst nights of my life. It didn't help that you kept insulting the waitress-"

"Granger, I'm a growing boy. I need nutrients."

"You're seventeen!"

"Exactly."

Hermione simply shook her head as she slouched into the living room and fell onto the sofa groaning.

"Fucking hell, come on! I'm wasting away here."

"You are not 'wasting away'. You're a prat."

"And you're a stuck up cow."

"Malfoy, it's too early. What are you even doing up at this time? I thought you'd be in bed until at least midday. You _have_ been at work for three days. I presumed you weren't used to it." It was true. Hermione had been pleasantly surprised to find that the telecommunications company had offered him a permanent placement and he was to start work full time on Monday. She'd been expecting the worse and was more than relieved to discover that she wouldn't be going on another trip to the job centre with the ferret.

"Fuck off, Granger."

"Have I hit a nerve?"

"Can we just go shopping before I rip off that bushy head of yours?"

"Witty." She commented with a raised eyebrow. "And yes, after. The supermarket doesn't open until nine."

"Bollocks."

"Yes, quite. Now shut up and get lost. I'm going back to sleep."

"On the sofa?"

"Malfoy, it's Saturday, just shove off!"

"Women and fucking Mudbloods, they're all the same." His disgruntled cursing faded out of earshot as the hungry Slytherin traipsed back up the stairs, leaving Hermione to her doomed attempt at sleep. She was so close, just dropping off, when she heard it.

At first, she was convinced that she was dreaming. Shaking her head, she squeezed her eyes shut and snuggled further into the duvet.

_Meow._

No, she had definitely heard it that time. Was that a cat? Throwing herself from the sofa, she ran into the entrance hall and began straining to hear whatever it was behind the front door.

"Granger, what the fuck are you doing?" Malfoy drawled as he came down the stairs to find Hermione with her ear pressed to the door.

"Shhh!"

"What-"

"Shut up!"

_Meow._

Yes, that was most certainly real. She'd know that grumpy meow anywhere. Hermione didn't hesitate to throw open the front door and she wasn't disappointed when she was greeted by a giant ball of orange fur on the doorstep, blinking up at her in the sunlight. The cat sauntered into the house and Hermione squealed as she bent down to hoist it up into her arms, hugging it to her chest.

"Oh, Crookshanks! Where have you been?" She cooed.

"You _know_ that... thing?" Malfoy pulled a face of disgust at the fur ball in her arms.

"This _thing,_" She glared pointedly at the blonde, holding the cat even tighter. "As you so put it, is my cat. This is Crookshanks. He's been missing for weeks."

"That's a cat?"

"Yes, he's a cat. And he's better company than you'll ever be. There could be some half decent conversation under this roof now that-"

"Piss off, Granger." He snarled. "How did it even find you? It's not like it's been to this house before. And from what I've heard, cats aren't that well endowed when it comes to brain cells."

"He's half Kneazle. He's smarter than your average cat." She shrugged, nuzzling into the cats fur as she continued to hug him.

"It's fuck ugly."

"So are you, but I don't have to comment on it."

"Avada yourself."

"Your word choices never cease to fascinate me Malfoy, honestly." Hermione rolled her eyes and put Crookshanks down, watching him happily trot off in the direction of the kitchen. "I'm going to get ready. We're going shopping. Crook's needs some food."

"But you said the shop doesn't open until nine." Malfoy furrowed his brows as Hermione bounded up the stairs, stopping to turn back and smirk at him.

"I lied."

"You're such a bitch!"

"It's Saturday!"

"So you'll get food for that pug faced bag of fleas, but you'll contentedly let another human being _starve_?"

"When that human being is _you_, then yes." Hermione shrugged. "Besides, I actually like Crookshanks. I appreciate his company a lot more than I do yours."

* * *

><p>They were stood in front of the busy entrance to the local supermarket. Malfoy was pulling his face at anything that moved and Hermione was quickly regretting her decision to bring him here.<p>

"Really, Granger? I thought the bus was bad..."

"Yes, well, I'd get used to it if I were you. You're going to be using both this place _and_ the bus on a regular basis in the next couple of months."

"Joy." Malfoy droned sarcastically.

"You did remember to bring your card, didn't you?"

"Card?"

"Merlin Malfoy, your credit card!"

"Of course I did, I'm not a fucking idiot!"

"Stop shouting! People are looking at us."

"But you-"

"Shut up, Malfoy!"

"_You_ have a multiple personality. You need help, Granger."

"Just..." Hermione let out a growl of frustration. "Just get in there. And grab a trolley!"

"Trolley?"

"Are you really that clueless?"

"Unlike you, I belong to the Wizarding world. How would I know what a pissing trolley is?"

"It's hardly rocket science."

"What?"

"Merlin, help me." She sighed, grabbing a trolley from beside the entrance and dragging her feet behind her as she walked into the shop with Malfoy hot on her heels.

It took Hermione at least ten minutes to get them to the first aisle that they needed to visit. As soon as they'd made it through the door, Malfoy had stopped to stare at whatever various displays they passed.

"Does it have to be so big? If you fuck off and leave me, I'll-"

"I'm not going to _leave_ you, as tempting as that sounds. It's more than my job is worth..."

"So how do you suppose we find everything in here?"

"It's easy. Each aisle contains different products. They _are_ sign posted." She stated, pointing to a sign hanging above the aisle they were in reading 'fruit and veg'. "Haven't you brought a list or something?"

"Why the hell would I bring a list?"

"So that you know what you need!"

"I'll just buy what I see."

"You do have a budget, you know? Until you get paid, at least."

"Then I'll add it up."

"Really? I didn't know that you could add. It's hard to picture Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy teaching their son how to do maths."

"Shut you mouth, Granger. I'm warning you." He glared darkly at her.

Hermione was starting to notice a pattern. It seemed Malfoy didn't like his parents being mentioned. Their names brought out the same reaction in him every time they passed her lips. Of course, this only encouraged her to push his limits even further, just to figure out how far they could really go before he broke. However, she doubted that a supermarket full of muggles was the most appropriate place for such an argument, and so she did what she did best and held her tongue.

"At least one of us has some initiative. Fortunately for you and you poor, neglected brain, I brought a calculator. It'll add up the prices for you so that you don't go over budget."

"And how does that work smart arse?"

"I'll show you later. Right now, I just want this over with as quickly as possible. I'll use the calculator and tell you when you've spent up. Just throw whatever you want into the trolley... What do you want exactly?"

"I don't know, do I?"

"Right. Great." She groaned. "I suppose we'll just go up and down each of the aisles then."

"Will the fun never end?"

"There's no need to be so sarcastic."

"Who said I was being sarcastic?"

* * *

><p>Torture. Hermione could think of no other word for the past three hours she had just experienced. Taking Malfoy shopping certainly wasn't going to turn into a hobby any time soon. She couldn't help but wonder how the idiot hadn't gotten himself arrested yet. His behaviour in public was far from suitable.<p>

And then there were the questions. The endless questions. Hermione was the first to admit that not all muggle food was well known within the Wizarding world, but it seemed that Malfoy was utterly clueless. By the time they had left the supermarket, she was sure that her voice had disappeared, she had answered that many of his queries.

As she shut the front door behind her and watched Malfoy swagger off into the living room, leaving eighteen carrier bags full of food lying on the floor of the entrance hall, she swore to herself never again.

"If you think I'm putting all of this away by myself, you're delusional." She told him as she followed him into the living room to find him lounging, sprawled out over the sofa.

"I'll do it later."

"You'll do it now. Frozen food melts, surprisingly enough. I know you wouldn't think it, maybe the logic and the laws of the universe are different where you come from, but we have about half an hour until that ice cream becomes a complete waste of money. And-"

"Fucking hell, I'll help, just shut up."

"We'll split it down the middle, you do nine, I'll do nine."

"Whatever." He brushed her comments off and began to drag carrier bags into the kitchen.

Hermione couldn't stop the smug grin that spread across her features as she whipped out her wand and cast a quick _wingardium leviosa_ on her own bags. As she guided them into the kitchen and placed them onto the table, Malfoy scowled at her and she could practically feel his fury boiling.

"What was the fucking point? You could have just levitated the lot of them in here you stupid bint."

"I wanted to see you do something for once. Heaven knows you've had less than enough experience in manual labour. I was simply educating you."

"Fuck you."

"Thank you." Hermione smiled sweetly. "Just make sure the frozen food goes into the freezer."

"And how am I supposed to know which is the frozen food?"

"I don't know, maybe it will be _cold_." Hermione laughed. She could have sworn that he blushed.

"Shut the fuck up, Granger. And how am I supposed to cook this crap without a wand? What's your clever answer to that problem?"

"I'll just have to teach you, won't I?" She replied hesitantly. "If you can learn how to use a computer, cooking shouldn't be that difficult."

"I'm not eating anything that's been into contact with your Mudblood germs."

Immediately, she saw red. "Starve then! See if I care!"

She could see it in his face as he debated on what to do. To a normal person, there really wouldn't have been a choice. Continue starving or eat something that a muggleborn had made; was the choice really that difficult?

"Fine." He snapped. "Just make sure you wash your hands before you do it."

"Yes, because that will wash away my muggle heritage." She rolled her eyes. She seemed to be doing that a lot these days.

Neither said another word to each other as they unpacked the food. It was only to be expected that Malfoy would grumble away to himself as he was forced into work. Hermione was quickly learning to block him out as he slammed cupboard doors and kicked the fridge shut with more force than was really necessary.

"What do you want for dinner?" She asked when they'd finished.

"I don't know."

"You've just bought half of the local supermarket. How can you not know?"

"I don't know, Granger. Just make some pasta or something."

"You eat pasta?"

"Everybody eats pasta." He said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Okay then..."

An awkward silence fell over the pair as Hermione fell into one of the chairs around the kitchen table. Malfoy didn't move from his place by the sink and cleared his throat to catch her attention again. She simply raised her eyebrows at him in question.

"You going to show me how to cook or what?"

"You actually _want_ me to teach you?"

"Look Granger, I don't really have much choice, do I? Not if I don't want to live off shitty café meals, drinking tea that tastes like piss and dish water for the next six months."

"Right..." Hermione got up from the table and headed over to the cupboard. "Pasta then?"

"Whatever."

"Pasta really isn't hard to make, you know?"

"That's great." He drawled.

"You could at least pretend to be interested."

"That requires effort."

"Oh, yes, heaven forbid you should strain yourself." She pulled the new packet of pasta from the top shelf and a jar of tomato and basil sauce from the one below it. "This is all you need, see?"

Malfoy grunted in response and perched himself onto the table, resting his chin in his hand to watch her.

"Okay, so you need a pan. Please tell me you know what a pan is..."

"I'm not fucking stupid!"

"Merlin, I was only checking! Right, fill the pan up with water. Tap water will do." Hermione demonstrated as she went through the instructions and took the pan over to the cooker. "Place the pan onto the cooker, like so, and then just pour in the pasta. It gets bigger when it heats up-" She was interrupted as Malfoy snorted from behind her. "What?"

"Nothing." He smirked.

As she realised what she had said, she glared at the blonde and frowned. "Grow up, Malfoy. What are you, twelve?"

"I'm not the one throwing innuendos around."

"It wasn't an innuendo!"

"Sounded like one to me."

"That is because you have the mind of an overly hormonal teenage boy with little to no brain cells and an oxygen filled skull."

"Get on with it, Granger." He scowled. It seemed the moment had passed just as quickly as it had arrived and he was back to his usual brooding self.

"Right. Now, once you've done that, just press this button in and turn it so that the little line is above the picture of the flame. That switches the hob on. Now you have to wait around ten minutes until the pasta is cooked."

"What about the sauce?"

"You just heat it up once the pasta has cooked and pour it over. It takes two minutes."

"That's it?" He cocked an eyebrow at her.

"That's it." She shrugged. "I told you it was easy."

"Granger, it's been ten minutes!" Malfoy shouted up the stairs. "Come on, I'm hungry!"

"You're always hungry. You're worse than Ron and Harry." Hermione chided as she walked into the kitchen to find him hovering over the boiling pan.

"Stop comparing me to the fucking twat twins and check the pasta. Is it ready?"

"Don't call them that! And yes, it is." She pulled the pan off the hob and poured the pasta into a sieve over the sink. "I'm just draining the water out. Then you just place the pasta onto a plate, see?" She dished out the pasta onto two plates.

"And the sauce?"

"Easy. This here," Hermione gestured to a metal box next to the cooker. "Is a microwave. You just put the sauce into a bowl, place it in the microwave, press the buttons to make it two minutes and press go."

The microwave began to hum and Malfoy bent down to look inside at the sauce spinning around. Hermione laughed and he quickly composed himself.

"Shut up."

"I didn't say anything."

"Still... Shut up."

When the microwave beeped, Malfoy jumped and Hermione was almost in hysterics as she pulled out the bowl of sauce and poured it over the two plates of pasta.

"Here." She said, placing one plate in front of Malfoy who was sat at the kitchen table.

"You don't have to fucking laugh at me, alright?"

"I'm not laughing."

Malfoy continued to glare at her and she caved in.

"Okay, so I was laughing. I'm sorry, but it was funny." She admitted, handing him a fork.

"I've told you, Granger, I'm a wizard! I don't understand all of this muggle crap."

"I know, I know. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have laughed." Hermione looked down at his untouched plate. "You can eat it, you know? I haven't poisoned it."

Slowly, she watched as he lifted a fork full of pasta to his mouth and tasted it. She barely had time to blink before the plate had become half empty.

"You like it, I suppose." It wasn't a question.

"It's alright." He mumbled.

"That means yes." She grinned, digging into her own dinner.

When they had both finished their food, Hermione took his plate and placed it into the sink, turning on the tap and adding a squirt of washing up liquid. She turned to look at the blonde who was still sat in his chair looking at her. If Hermione didn't know him, she'd have said he looked slightly guilty. He certainly looked at war with himself.

"It's okay. I don't expect you to thank me." And she didn't. She knew Malfoy well enough to know that it would take too much to swallow his pride so quickly.

"Good." She watched, almost in awe, as his features returned to their usual hostility. "You would have been disappointed."

"I'm sure." She smiled and left the room.

* * *

><p>Hermione spent the rest of the afternoon up in her bedroom, reading her favourite novel. She had read it so many times, it only took her a mere few hours to finish. It seemed pointless to start a new one this late on. The Ministry had been courteous enough to supply them with a television, so Hermione supposed it was only right that she try it out. She made her way down to the living room and fell onto the sofa, curling her legs up underneath herself and grabbing the remote off the coffee table. It was easy enough to use and Hermione soon came across a classic Disney film.<p>

"What the fuck is that?" Malfoy asked from the doorway of the living room.

"This is the television, Malfoy. It's muggle entertainment."

"Well, what does it do?" He tentatively entered the room and sat down on the sofa across from hers.

"It shows films and television shows. They're like... talking pictures. Or visual books. Some of it is really useless. Soap operas, for example. Though I can't deny that they're somewhat entertaining." She chuckled. "I'm watching a film right now."

"Looks like a load of crap to me."

"Give it a chance."

It was more than obvious that he was reluctant to associate himself with a muggle device such as television. He'd only been in the room for a few minutes when he jumped up off the sofa.

"Actually, I think I'll go to bed." He gave the television one last glance and headed out of the door.

"Oh. Goodnight, Malfoy." Hermione never expected a reply.

She was currently completely oblivious to the chatter coming from the speakers or the movement on the screen. She was too busy pondering over her day with Malfoy as she listened to his footsteps going up the stairs.

As gruelling as the supermarket experience had been for her, the rest of the day had been... good? Maybe not good, but certainly civil to some degree, something she hadn't had in the past couple of days. Though she wasn't naïve enough to believe that Malfoy could be partial to any sort of friendship. They were barely acquaintances for Merlin's sake! He was positively infuriating and impossible to predict. One moment he was screaming profanities at her and the next they were having a half decent conversation. Maybe she was growing on him or maybe he was just tolerating her for the sake of a peaceful life; she didn't know.

However, Hermione knew one thing for certain; she would never understand boys.


	8. Two Steps Back

**I'm sorry! I'm sorry it's late, but as it so happens, Christmas is actually quite a busy time of year for me. It isn't usually, but there we have it. I apologise. **

**I know I said I would update more often while I'm off college for Christmas, but then I remembered that I have exams to revise for and that I actually want to pass them. So, yeah... Updates might be a bit slow. But the good news is, after January 18th, they're over until May!**

**Anyway, enjoy chapter 8. I hope it was worth the wait. :)**

**As always, I own nothing.**

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><p>20th May 1998<p>

"Good morning to you too, Malfoy." All she received in response was an incomprehensible grunt.

Every day was the same. She would scramble out of bed and into the shower, and by the time she was finished, _he_ would be there. Malfoy would stand, waiting, outside the bathroom door to bump shoulders with her and do an impeccable job of ignoring her existence. It was becoming something akin to routine.

She had taken it on as a personal responsibility to attempt to form some sort of civility between the pair. However, as the slam of the bathroom door resounded around the house, there was no denying that he was purposely making it difficult. Sighing, she shook her head and made her way back into her bedroom to get ready for the day. Pulling a formal black dress from her wardrobe and scraping her untamed hair into a bun at the nape of her neck certainly didn't help to improve her mood.

Today was the day of Fred Weasley's funeral. Of course, it was inevitable that this day would come, but it didn't stop her from profusely dreading its arrival. Lupin and Tonks had had a joined service two weeks before. She wasn't aware that a human being could cry as much as she had that day. Harry and Ron had coped no better than she had. Little Teddy Lupin was utterly clueless. He didn't understand what had happened to his parents, how could he? He was just a baby. Somehow, that only helped to make the situation worse.

It had taken her at least an hour. It wasn't until she had begun to apply her make up that she allowed the tears to fall. After re-doing it three times, she made the wise decision to just give up completely. After all, what was the point? She would soon be returning home with puffy eyes, swollen lips and tracks of mascara marring her face. No amount of make up would cover that up. So, after casting a simple glamour charm to appear somewhat presentable, she made her way downstairs. By the time she entered the kitchen, Malfoy was already seated at the table, not a damp hair out of place.

"I really will have to show you how to use the hair dryer." Hermione murmured on her way over to the kettle. She could feel his eyes as they followed her across the room, scrutinizing her every move.

"You look... _dismal_." He commented indifferently. "I didn't know you were into Gothic chic, Granger-"

"Oh, piss off, Malfoy!" She snapped, spinning to face him with her fiercest glare etched upon her features. "I- Look, I'm sorry. I'm just not in the mood today, alright?"

If he was affected by her outburst, he failed to show it. His nonchalantly patronizing composure remained unaffected. In fact, Hermione could have sworn that a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth as she watched him consider his next words.

"Now, really Granger. There's no need to swear. I was simply complementing-"

"Complementing me?" She laughed humourlessly, it was almost cold. "Malfoy, I have no problem with you insulting my every move, but there is no need to lie to me."

"Fucking hell, what's wrong with you this morning? What is it? That time of month or-"

"If I were you, I wouldn't bother finishing that sentence." She warned. "And no, you ignorant, insensitive, insufferable-"

"You can stop with the alliteration, Granger."

"-Prat! Ugh! It's Fred's funeral today!"

"And Fred is...?"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake! You really are the most callous person I have ever had the misfortune to meet!" She seethed. "Fred Weasley! Ronald's brother. George's twin!"

"Granger, if you expect me to memorise the entire Weasley brood then-"

"Can you _please_ show at least an ounce of respect? Just for today? Or are you really that far detached from the norm of society?"

"I don't have to show anything towards those blood-traitors." He sneered. "They don't deserve to call themselves _purebloods_. It's fucking disgusting."

"Oh, stop going off on a tangent! When will you get it into your thick skull? Blood doesn't mean anything, Malfoy. The mania is over!"

"Ah, well. One down and all that."

"Malfoy!" Hermione screeched. "You don't have to be so horrible! How can you so much as _think_ that, let alone _say_ it? Are you honestly that cold? Really, if you had a heart, it would be made of stone."

"Granger, I couldn't care less about what you think if I tried."

Hermione huffed frustratedly and spun back around, focusing all of her attention upon he current task of making a cup of coffee. She was absolutely furious! How could he say such things? Fred was her friend, her best friends _brother_, and he had died! He had died fighting in a war, fighting for what he believed in, for what was right. He was more of a man than Malfoy could ever wish to be. And he had the nerve to mock him! He was, without a doubt, _intolerable_.

"Stop slamming the cupboard doors, Granger." He drawled as she grabbed a box of cereal and threw it down onto the counter.

"No."

"Well, you can at least make me some breakfast."

"_Piss off_, Malfoy!" Hermione growled, grabbing an apple form the fruit basket in the centre of the table and hurling it straight for his head. She didn't get to see whether she had hit him or not; she had already left the room.

* * *

><p>Similar to Lupin and Tonks', Fred's funeral was largely packed with wizards and witches, some of whom Hermione knew, some of whom she didn't. They had all come to pay their respects; after all, he <em>was<em> a war hero. Molly had attempted to read out the eulogy that she had written, only to break down into intelligible sobs before she could choke out the first sentence. George had managed no better. In the end, the only person who could get a coherent word out without crying uncontrollably was Ginny. Though, even she needed Harry to hold her hand throughout the speech.

It had been a nice ceremony. Well, as nice as a funeral could be. As Hermione had expected, the wake was to be held at the Burrow, Fred's home. However, being such a small house, many of the guests had departed at the church to make their way home. Only close friends and family were to be invited. Hermione, of course, was one of those select few.

The Burrow looked as it always did. She had presumed it would. There were no fancy decorations, nothing out of the ordinary, just a small buffet spread out on the kitchen table, courtesy of Mrs Weasley. Hermione had never respected the woman more greatly. She had just buried her son and yet, she could still cater for a house full of guests. Most of the family were gathered in the living room. They were looking through Fred and George's baby pictures. As Molly let out a particularly loud whine, Hermione noticed Ron, Ginny and Harry sneak off into the kitchen in her peripheral vision and discreetly followed.

"What's the matter?" She asked, concern thick in her voice as she took in the three friends. They were all leaning casually against the counter in the corner of the room.

"Nothing. Just hungry." Ron shrugged, eyeing up the buffet.

"Really, Ronald? It's your brothers funeral! And what about you two?"

"I don't think I could take much more of mum's crying." Ginny muttered, so as not to inform the others of their absence. "I've never seen her like this before."

"But I thought she was doing okay? You said that she was getting better last week." Hermione furrowed her eyebrows.

"I know. And she was- _is_. I think it's the funeral, you know? It just... feels more real now. For all of us." Ginny sighed, gesturing to Ron who was currently making eyes at the cocktail sausages. "I think it finally hit everybody today that Fred's never coming back."

"You know if you need anything I'm always here, don't you Gin?" Hermione asked.

"Don't be daft!" She laughed. "Besides, you have more than enough on your plate with Malfoy."

"Ginny, don't you dare go worrying about me! Especially today. I'm _fine_. Believe me, I'm more than capable of handling the likes of Draco Malfoy."

"How is the git, anyway?" Asked Harry with a scowl.

"Oh, you know. Malfoy's-"

"Malfoy." He finished on a grin. "I'm aware. Elaborate."

"I don't know, Harry. I don't understand him at all. One minute he can be bordering on civil and the next he's cursing my very existence. Honestly, I think it's best if I just try to stay out of his line of fire."

"That's not just Malfoy, 'Mione." Ginny smirked. "That's _all_ men."

"Thanks, Gin." Harry grimaced.

"Yeah, thanks." Ron scoffed through a mouthful of crisps.

Conversation soon died down and the four of them fell into an uncomfortable silence as the sound of Molly's sobs drifted in from the next room. It was obvious that the family just wanted to grieve and Hermione felt a dominant surge of awkwardness. Undoubtedly, she was grieving too. Fred was her friend, after all, and she missed his presence greatly. Even his practical jokes. And she hadn't failed to let the tears fall throughout the service earlier that day. Her eyes were stinging terribly. However, she couldn't stop the feeling that the Weasley's should just be left alone to get through this together, as a family.

"Do you think I should go and check on her?" Ginny whispered, chewing her bottom lip nervously as she eyed the door leading off to the living room.

"I think she needs her family around her, Gin." Hermione smiled sadly. "And I think I should go. I should leave you all in peace to grieve properly. You need it, _all_ of you."

"Oh, no, you don't have to-"

"Ginny, really. I'm willing to do whatever it takes to help you all get through this, even if that means staying away for a while and giving you some peace." She smiled.

"Are you sure? Honestly, you can stay, I don't mind."

"As I said, you need this." Hermione assured. "I'll floo you tomorrow at work."

"Thank you, Hermione."

"No problem. Remember, if you need anything, anything at all, you have my address. Do not hesitate to wake me up at four in the morning. I won't mind." She laughed, hugging the younger girl as they shared their final goodbyes. "I'll see you soon. You too, Ron."

"Bye, 'Mione." He murmured from the other side of the table. She hadn't known him to be this quiet since the final battle.

"See you, Harry." She smiled, and with a pop, she was gone.

* * *

><p>When Hermione appeared back at the house, she was instantly met with the strong smell of onions. And bread. And... oranges?<p>

"Malfoy?" She called out, slightly hesitant.

"Kitchen."

Cautiously, she made her way towards him. It wasn't difficult to hear the string of muffled profanities leaving his mouth, even from this distance, and as she stepped through the threshold, it was much less difficult to see the reason behind them. Cupboards, counters, walls, even the floor; they were all shrouded in various ingredients. Some food was in packets, some graced the surfaces all on their own.

And then there was Malfoy. He appeared as disgustingly disorganised as the room itself, with his clothes coated in juice and batter. Even his hair was dishevelled. His face was set into a mask of frustrated concentration and he growled as he began to frantically stir the dish that was currently smoking upon the stove. Hermione wasn't sure she had ever seen him looking so... _human_.

"What on Earth..." She trailed off as she noticed the numerous cook books piled high next to the collection of plates on the kitchen table.

"I found some recipe books in the library upstairs." He explained, though his eyes never left the the boiling substance. "You were out and I was bored. I don't know if you've noticed, but there isn't exactly much to do around here without my magic."

"You have _destroyed_ my kitchen!" She exclaimed, gaping, wide-eyed, at the sight before her.

"_Our_ kitchen, Granger. And you have your wand, I'm sure you can fix it."

"Ours? You do realise that you've just gone against your word and associated yourself with me, don't you?" She raised an eyebrow at him, as he whipped his head around to scowl at her, and smiled smugly. "And just because _I'm_ allowed to use magic does not mean that I'm going to go around cleaning up _your_ mess. You were perfectly capable of creating this so, you are perfectly capable of putting it right."

"You're such a self-righteous little bitch."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Malfoy."

"Why are you here, Granger? I thought you were burying one of the Weasels."

"That's what I admire most about you. You have such a delicate approach to these subjects." She began to trek across the kitchen, making her way towards the table. "And the funeral ended half an hour ago. I left the wake early, Molly was a bit... upset. Though, I suppose it's more than understandable. They're a rather tight-knit family. They just need to get through this together. I didn't want to get in the way."

"I asked why you were back, not for a fucking Weasley life story."

"You really are utterly charming."

"And you look like shit." Malfoy grimaced as he finally glanced up at her. "Have you been crying?"

"Of course I've been crying!" She snapped. "It was my friends funeral you insensitive prat!"

The pot that Malfoy had forgotten about let out a sharp hiss and he spun around and let out a groan. As he began to stir at the sauce desperately again, Hermione turned to face the array of dishes spread out over the table top and sighed. He'd been busy. It looked as if he had made enough meals to feed the both of them for at least a week. Placed directly in front of her was, what appeared to be, a bowl of soup. Well, she certainly _hoped_ that it was a bowl of soup as she dipped the tip of her little finger into the liquid and lifted it to her mouth to taste.

"Merlin, Draco!" She gasped, eyes widening as the flavour exploded on her taste buds. "Were you a chef in a past life or is this culinary skill just a natural talent?"

"First name terms now, Granger?" He smirked. "I wasn't aware that I could grow on you so quickly."

"Grown on me? Yes, Malfoy, like a tumour." She laughed, grabbing a spoon and beginning to finish off the bowl of soup.

"You called me Draco."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did. You called me Draco."

"So what if I did? It's not as if I've never called you by your name before."

"You've _never_ called me Draco. I've been Malfoy to you and the twat twins ever since that first unfortunate moment we met." He turned to look at her, only to find her scraping the bottom of the bowl of soup he had made moments before she had returned home. "Fuck off, Granger! Stop eating my food!"

"Sorry! But, it's _good_."

"Of course it's good. _I_ made it." He grinned conceitedly and she couldn't refrain from rolling her eyes.

"You are the most pompous sod I have ever met!"

"And you're a thieving bint!" He barked, jumping forward to swot her arm away. "Get the fuck off the cake, Granger!"

"But it looks-"

"Good, I know! You've already eaten my bloody soup. For Merlin's sake, just piss- Granger, stop! Seriously!"

"Sorry!" She laughed, standing up and reversing from the table with her hands up in surrender. "No, really, I'll stop, I'm sorry. I was hungry! We didn't exactly get around to eating today..."

"Well, you're certainly doing a bloody good job of making up for it."

"Oh, come on! Are you honestly telling me that you're going to eat all of this on your own? Even Ron wouldn't-"

"Granger!" He glared. "Do you get some sort of thrill from bringing up that wanker constantly? I know he's your boyfriend but-"

"Grow up, Malfoy."

"Oh, for fuck's sake! Now look what you've-"

"Don't you dare! I haven't _done_ anything!"

"It's only gone and fucking burnt!" He snarled as he turned off the heat and dumped the pot of sauce into the sink.

"Stop crying. It's not as if you don't have enough. There's so much food here, you could feed a third world country."

"Piss off, Granger. Your hints are far from welcome."

"Oh, fine! I'll make a deal-"

"I am not getting involved with any of your-"

"Shush! Stop interrupting me! You let me eat your food, and I'll help with the cleaning."

"Gra-"

"_And,_" She glared at him dangerously. "I'll teach you how to use the hair dryer. It's like a drying charm. You'll never have to sit around with wet hair again."

"You're such a bitch."

"Take it or leave it, Malfoy." She smiled sweetly at him. "Your choice."

"I fucking hate you." He snarled. "_So_ much!"

"So, do we have a deal?"

"Fine!"

"Lovely! Now, I _did_ touch the cake, so technically-"

Hermione never got to finish her sentence as a sharp _crack_ echoed through the house. She knew that sound. Somebody had apparated into her home. Ignoring Malfoy's protests, she ran – well, _tripped_ – out of the kitchen, only to crash into somebody in the entrance hall as she made her way to the living room.

"Hermione!"

"Fletch?" She gasped. "What are you doing here?"

"Who the fuck are you?" Malfoy drawled as he poked his head around the kitchen door.

"Nice of you to remember me, Mr Malfoy."

"This is Fletch. He's my boss; head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement." Hermione explained. "Fletch, what's wrong?"

"A couple of rogue Death Eaters were spotted just outside of muggle London. The Aurors found out just in time and we caught them!" Fletch beamed. "I'm sorry, Hermione, I know it's Sunday and that it's your day off, and I wouldn't ask but, I could really do with a hand in the office. It's absolutely hectic in the department and I'm going to be there all night at this rate. And, in all honesty, Miranda is driving me insane. Your company would be much appreciated."

"Of course, it's not problem... I'll just- I'll just get my bag." Hermione stuttered, completely taken aback, heading into the kitchen to grab her bag and wand from the table.

"I thought we were having lunch?" Malfoy asked, making her jump. She hadn't noticed he was still in the room and he had sneaked up behind her. Turning to glance at him she almost faltered. If she didn't know him any better, she'd say he looked almost disgruntled.

"Oh, stop fretting. I'll help you to clean up when I get home. You can have the food, I don't mind. I'll grab something at work." She brushed him off, barely noting his presence as she rushed to grab everything she needed. "And _please_ don't make anything else. I don't want to be cleaning up all night."

"What else am I supposed to do?"

"I don't know... read or something."

"Granger-"

"Hermione?" Fletch appeared from around the corned.

"Sorry! Yes, I'm ready now." She took hold of Fletch's arm and turned towards the blonde. "I have to go, Malfoy. I'll see you later." And on those parting words, Fletch apparated them to the Ministry, leaving Malfoy to entertain himself.

* * *

><p>Hermione really hadn't stayed at the Ministry for so long intentionally. She had completely lost track of time. Fletch hadn't been lying when he had said that the department was busy, and by the time she had arrived back home, it was closing in on midnight. She had decided to walk home. It was warm outside and the whole country was bracing itself for its annual heatwave.<p>

The lights were still on in the house. She hadn't expected Malfoy to be awake, though it wouldn't be the first time she had gotten him wrong. She checked the kitchen first; he was usually rooting through the cupboards, no matter what time of night it was. However, it was empty. Upon entering the living room, she was greeted with a mass of blonde hair mixed in with the cushions on the sofa. He was reading a book; a _muggle_ book.

"I didn't know that you enjoyed muggle literature, Malfoy." She commented, collapsing onto the sofa opposite his own. "Though, I must admit, it is a very clever story. A classic, no less. My mother gave it to me as a present for my thirteenth birthday. I-"

"Granger, shut the fuck up!" He snarled, throwing the book down onto the coffee table.

"You've lost your page now."

"I couldn't give a fuck. It was shit anyway." He frowned.

"Merlin, what is wrong with you?"

"Nothing!" He snapped. "Just fuck off. It was peaceful until you barged in here. Uninvited, may I add."

"Malfoy, I _live_ here. What do you want me to do?"

"I don't want anything from you."

"Will you please stop snapping at me? What is with the attitude? You were fine when I left-"

"Granger, just leave me the fuck alone! I've had enough of your nagging for one day. Do something useful and clean up the kitchen. You're so fucking annoying!"

"What is _wrong_ with you?" Hermione cried. "And you have the nerve to call _me_ annoying! I don't understand you at all, Malfoy! You were perfectly fine earlier, you were being almost civil! We were going to have lunch together!"

"It's not as if I have much fucking choice, is it? Do you really think I'd be dining with the Mudblood of my own free-will? Are you really that fucking deluded, Granger?"

"I don't have to listen to this." Hermione sighed, pushing up from the sofa and heading out of the living room. Upon reaching the door, she turned to glare at him. "You know what? When you feel like settling on some sort of stable personality, Malfoy, I'm here. But, until then, just do me a favour and stay away from me. Because I don't think I can take much more."

"Go on then, Granger. Walk away." Malfoy chastised as he stood from the sofa and began to square up to her. Only now did she notice how tall he really was compared to her mere five foot four.

"I'm not walking away! I'm just fed up, Malfoy!" She groaned. "I don't want to spend the next twenty-four weeks with you jumping down my throat at my every breath. I just- I won't do it. The war is over. And I'm tired and I don't think that you quite understand. And I won't do it. I've had enough."

"I don't understand? Fucking hell, Granger! I'm stuck in this shit hole for six months!" He spat, leaning down so that he was shouting directly into her face. "No magic, no contact with my family or my friends. I'm stuck in this miserable excuse for a world full of fucking _muggles_! And you think that I don't understand? I fought in the war too, you know. It doesn't matter what side I was on, _I was still fucking there_! I know exactly how it feels!"

"Then start acting like it! Because I'm done with your prejudices and your hypocrisy and your egotistical... your egotistical _bollocks_!" She shrieked, leaning her head against the living room door frame. "I'm going to bed. I'm done with you tonight, Malfoy."

"Grow the fuck up, Granger. Life's hard. Deal with it. It's not all fucking rainbows and butterflies." When she failed to turn around, continuing on her journey up the stairs, he growled in frustration, kicking the door. A large thud resounded through the room and she still refused to look back. "And you still need to clean the kitchen!"

"_Goodnight_, Malfoy." Hermione sighed as she reached the last few steps and entered her bedroom, locking the door behind her. The only reply she received was a roar and a bang as Malfoy's fist connected with the living room wall in the room below.


	9. Twelve Days

**Okay, if there are any errors or if something doesn't make sense in this chapter, please let me know. I wrote it in the early hours of the morning and finished it at half 4 and all I want to do is sleep, so please forgive me. I wanted to update tonight because I'll be really busy over New Year and next week I need to blitz all of my college work before I fail my exams, so I apologise in advance if updates become a bit slow.**

**As always, thank you for all of your responses to the last chapter. I love you all.**

**Oh, and a happy New Year!**

**I revised this chapter, which is why it was uploaded again. I figured that it needed a little touching up considering I wrote it at 3am and could barely remember what I'd written.**

**I own nothing.**

* * *

><p>June 1st 1998<p>

Twelve days.

It had been twelve exhaustive days since Hermione had last spoken a word to _him_. And, of course, he had just as equally refused to converse with her. She remembered the argument well. She had recapitulated the moment in her mind so many times that she could recite every syllable that had been voiced between the pair on that particular night.

In retrospect, maybe she _had_ been slightly harsh on him. Merlin knew that she couldn't possibly imagine how it felt to be in his position. She also knew the prat well enough to know that he was... well, a prat. And he was most unlikely to change in the foreseeable future. She had warned herself numerous times that she would have to tread carefully when it came to Draco Malfoy. And she knew for sure that she wasn't the only witch in the Wizarding world who was aware of his unpredictable temperament. From the very first meeting in Shacklebolt's office she had assured herself that she would not fail to keep her cool around him. How was it, that less than a week into his sentence, she had managed to break her personal promise to herself?

But, really, had it been so bad? Their quarrel had lasted all of five minutes and it was hardly a rare occurrence between the two. No. No, it was definitely not enough to cause such a prolonged silence between them. She may have dented his pride and successfully gotten his blood boiling, but it was nowhere near enough for him to wipe her existence from his conscious mind. The fact of the matter was that he was as stubborn as she was. And, in terms of making amends, neither were particularly thrilled at the prospect of making the first move.

Hermione had, at first, as any clinically sane person would, enjoyed the peace and tranquillity that had resulted from their controversy. Any mentally sound person knew that a period of time, for which Draco Malfoy was able to keep his mouth shut, should be treasured immensely. However, even for the brains of the Golden Trio, the silence was becoming rather unnerving. Twelve days was about as much as she could bare. The atmosphere within the house could be cut with a knife and the death glares passed between the two whenever they crossed paths were becoming a burden.

And so, she vowed to herself to make this right. They were adults now, were they not? They had left school quite some time ago and had both fought in a war that had also run its course. The aftermath was terrible, yes, and the Wizarding world would, without a doubt, take years to heal all of its scars left behind from the event. But, it was _over_. Hermione had always prided herself on having a sensible head upon her shoulders and she'd be damned if she brought the third Wizarding war upon her own home. This needed to end. Now.

As determined as she was, there was one small glitch within Hermione's plan; she was at work. She was stuck inside her office at the Ministry, and Malfoy himself was currently working within the Muggle world. They wouldn't see each other for at least another six hours. It seemed that Malfoy's boss insisted that he work until six o'clock every night. He had been getting home at around half past ever since he had started working at the telecommunications branch in Muggle London. Hermione assumed that he would have ranted about the labour, endlessly, until her ears bled, if they had been talking...

No, as set as her mind had become on the subject, there was no possible way for her to go through with it just yet. For now, she would have to wait. Unfortunately, Harry and Ron were away on 'important Auror business' so, she didn't even have the optional pleasure of their company to pass the time. It appeared as though she would be working through her lunch break anyhow. A report on her Azkaban clients was due on Shacklebolt's desk tomorrow afternoon. She supposed it was best to get it over with; although taking a trip to the infamous Wizarding prison was hardly the most pleasant of tasks to help speed up the hours.

Patience was certainly no virtue when it came to Hermione Granger.

* * *

><p>Azkaban was as she remembered it; deathly cold, morbid and numb. It had barely differed from her last visit. Time seemed to stop altogether upon entering the abyss, creating the opposite of her desired effect. The place was akin to a living hell and she was somewhat glad to be safe in the knowledge that her house-mate had escaped such a sentence. Malfoy deserved many things – another meeting with her fist and a thorough reality check, for example – but, he certainly didn't deserve to be stuck in that place.<p>

Hermione was unaware that she owned the ability to shock herself. What, in Merlin's name, was she thinking? Had she begun to almost pity the insufferable git? The thought alone was implausibly ridiculous.

It was utterly absurd!

No, it was _impossible_. She was simply portraying a sense of level headedness and professionalism. Yes, that must have been it. Because, from a _professional _point of view, Malfoy didn't deserve such a sentence. He was far from innocent, but professionally speaking, he hadn't committed an Azkaban worthy offence.

Rest assured, Hermione Granger was capable of feeling nothing more than indifference, with a hint of hatred, towards Draco Malfoy. Any more possible thoughts towards the Slytherin were, thankfully, cut short as a sandy-blonde head found itself poking through her office door.

"Fletch?"

"Hi," He grinned at her timidly and lifted an arm through the gap in the door, gesturing to a brown paper bag that his fist was currently clenched around. "You know how this place is. Word got around and I heard you spent your lunch hour in Azkaban. So... I thought, maybe a bagel and a cup of coffee? I think there's a Chocolate Frog in there somewhere too."

"You really didn't need to, honestly," Hermione smiled and waved him into the room, watching fondly as he collapsed onto the chair opposite her. "But, thank you. You're coming to be my knight in shining armour, you know that, right?"

"It's the least I can do after all your help these past few weeks." He blushed. "Actually, that's um- what I mean to say is, I came here to apologise."

"Apologise? What, in Merlin's name, do you need to apologise for?" She cocked an eyebrow at him and smiled as his blush deepened considerably.

"Well, you see, as I said, word gets around in this place. The staff here tend to be worse than the students at Hogwarts when it comes to gossip and, well, I heard that it was Fred Weasley's funeral the day I pulled you into work."

"Fletch, that was ages ago! And I was fine, honestly. I wouldn't have come in if I hadn't felt up to it." Hermione reassured him, slightly taken aback by the subject.

"Either way, I just wanted to say I'm sorry. I should have known about something like that."

"Why are people talking about it now anyway? As I said, that was days ago." Hermione asked curiously as he passed her the bag of lunch.

"I'm not sure." Fletch furrowed his brows, shaking his head. "I heard something about Molly Weasley."

"Oh..." Hermione faltered. "Yes, well, I suppose it was bound to get out eventually. It's awful though, don't you think? The poor woman lost her son, for heaven's sake! I'm fairly sure that anybody would have a breakdown after going through such a terrible thing. Not that she's having a breakdown, per se... On the contrary, she's getting rather better now."

"Good to hear." Fletch grinned. "And you're right, it is awful. But, people will talk. It's inevitable. It'll take more than a war to shut them up. Especially when it comes to the press."

"It hasn't-"

"No, no! It hasn't reached the press. I was just saying... Sorry."

"No, that was me." Hermione smiled tentatively, deciding that now was the time for a change of topic. She reached into the paper bag, drawing out a small cardboard box decorated with fancy patterns and shapes, smiling gratefully as it glittered in the light. "I love Chocolate Frogs. They were always my favourite on the train to Hogwarts."

"Who d'you get?" Fletch inquired as she pulled a small card from within the packaging.

Hermione lifted it to read, using her other hand to hold down the Chocolate Frog as it attempted to squirm out of her grip. "Harry Potter." They both laughed. "How ironic."

"They've started sticking his face onto them cards already? I didn't know."

"Neither did I, but apparently so." Hermione shrugged and took a bite out of the immobilised chocolate, humming appreciatively.

"And the lady's verdict is?" Fletch chuckled.

"Hmm... They tasted better on the Hogwarts Express, I must admit. But, despite being accompanied with my best friend's face, I'd give it at least a ten out of ten."

Fletch laughed outright at her statement and relaxed into his seat, watching Hermione carefully and giving a blasé wave of his hand to her thanks. Hermione was all too aware of his eyes upon her and all the more aware of the fact that he was holding back on something.

"Would you count this as a lunch date?" He asked suddenly.

He didn't need to scrutinize her reaction. It was certainly clear. She swallowed a bite of her Chocolate Frog all too quickly and began to cough and splutter in the most undignified of ways. Fletch instinctively stood up and moved around to rub her back soothingly until her choking died down and the unhealthy purple tint that had covered her face had somewhat paled.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you quite so badly." He chuckled nervously.

"Not at all... I just didn't expect such a question." Hermione replied weakly.

There was a small pause until Fletch cleared his throat and returned to his seat. "So... Would you?"

"What?" Hermione raised an eyebrow at him quizzically. "Consider this a lunch date? No, most certainly not. Besides, it would be most inappropriate. After all, you're my boss, are you not?" She almost laughed as she watching him visibly frown in response to her rejection. "However, I know a lovely restaurant in Diagon Alley. They do the most delectable lasagne I've ever tasted. I'd love for you to try it out."

"Well, I don't know," He smirked, clasping his hands in his lap in an arrogant manor and resting back on the chair. "You have a valid point there, Miss Granger. I mean, I _am_ your boss and it would be awfully inappropriate. But, as it so happens, lasagne is my favourite dish and I feel almost obliged to take you up on the offer."

"I won't tell if you don't." Hermione laughed.

"I doubt you'd need to. My guess is that half of Wizarding Britain were already aware of this five hours ago, courtesy of Layla down in Care of Magical Creatures. You know how that woman loves to talk."

"Oh, yes, I think I remember hearing something now..."

"Ha ha. Your hilarity is what reels me in, Hermione." He rolled his eyes and made to get up. "Monday then. But, this means no dinnertime trips to Azkaban, I'm afraid."

"I'm devastated, honestly. Now go. I have work to do."

"See you on Monday."

"Goodbye, Mr Fletcher."

"Miss Granger." And with a parting nod, he left her office.

Merlin's beard! Had she just agreed to go on a date? With her _boss_, of all people! As if she didn't have enough to worry about with Malfoy. What was she thinking? She wasn't thinking. She couldn't possibly have been thinking.

Fletch was nice. He was sweet and honest and genuine. But, he was her _boss_ for heaven's sake! She had known him for barely a month. Not to mention he was four years older than she was. It was just wrong. So, why did she say yes? Maybe the Malfoy case really was getting to her head.

It was just reaching two o'clock. She still had three hours left in the office and time just seemed to be going slower as each second ticked by. And now, through complete fault of her own, she had Fletch's - or was it her own - proposal to worry about. As if making up with Malfoy wasn't enough for her to contemplate. She had given up on work the moment Fletch had left her office so, she didn't bother stopping her head from falling into the crevice of her arms resting upon her desk. Merlin help her.

_It's just lunch_, she reminded herself, _it doesn't have to be anything more, it's just lunch_. The only problem was that she was one-hundred percent sure that Fletch didn't see it that way...

* * *

><p>Hermione had never known a day to prolong itself so cruelly. It was becoming the norm for her to walk and, by the time she arrived home, it was approaching twenty-past five. Malfoy wouldn't arrive back for at least another hour. But, that was okay. It gave her time to prepare herself for the amount of pride she was about to sacrifice in the name of her sanity.<p>

She let out a groan of frustration upon entering the kitchen. Much like on the day of the argument, it was shrouded in food, cutlery and various pieces of china. He did this every morning after she left for work, so she hardly had a chance at preventing it. She yearned to scream at him, to hex him into oblivion. Every night, she would come home and find the same mess which he would continuously abandon and force her to clean up. She was well aware that he was doing it on purpose. Their lack of communication only fuelled her irritation. She couldn't even bring herself to reprimand him for his behaviour and it irked her invariably.

Puffing out a heavy sigh of defeat, she turned on her heel and traipsed back towards the coat stand placed in the entrance hall. She would never fail to leave her wand lying inside her bag. Re-entering the kitchen, she cast a simple _scourgify_ and fell, exhausted, onto one of the chairs surrounding the table.

She had an undying amount of work to do. She still had several files that she had promised to check through over the weekend, her bedroom was in desperate need of organisation, she also had the Jane Austen novel that she had begun to read last night to finish and then there was all of the business with Malfoy and Fletch which she needed to go over. Not to mention that she was supposed to stop off at the Burrow some time tonight. She had told Ginny that she would come. Yet, all these thoughts seemed to provoke was an intense wave of fatigue and she was almost positive that she couldn't have stopped her eyelids from drooping, even if she had tried.

* * *

><p>It was pure instinct to reach for her wand as the slam of the front door echoed through the house. Furrowing her eyebrows and glancing at the clock, she almost screamed when she realised that she had fallen asleep. How could she? She had a plan to formulate! Her pride was at stake and she had fallen asleep! She couldn't possibly make amends with the ferret on initiative alone. Despite her silent plea for time, the footsteps making their way towards her assured her that initiative would have to do.<p>

It appeared he hadn't noticed her as he strode into the kitchen with his head held high in a posture of pure arrogance. She watched as he made a beeline to the fridge and pulled out a carton of orange juice. As hard as she tried to beat down the smugness in the pit of her stomach, she couldn't stop her mouth from opening as his hand curled around and lifted a glass from the cupboard.

"You're home early."

As Hermione had expected him to, he visibly jumped and the glass he was holding slipped from his grip and fell to the floor with a resounding smash and a muffled 'fuck' on his part. She had done it on purpose and she knew that he knew, though he refused to grace her with one of his usual witty retorts. The only problem now was that she had no idea what to say next. How was she supposed to make up with somebody she had never been friends with in the first place? Logic looked to be non-existent when it came to Malfoy, however.

"It's been twelve days, Malfoy." She called to his back as he began to stride out of the kitchen without so much as a backwards glance in her direction. "Malfoy, come on. You told me to grow up and I am trying but, you are just purposely making it difficult!"

Still nothing. Not a glance, not a word, not even an acknowledgement. She huffed and reluctantly followed him into the living room to find him sprawled out over his sofa. _His_ sofa... Since when had they each claimed pieces of furniture?

"Malfoy?" Nothing. "Draco!" Not even the use of his given name had any effect. "Will you please stop pretending that I don't exist? As pleasant as these past few days have been without your constant bitching, I'd rather not have you wishing me dead at every chance you get. So, can we just... well, not make up exactly, but at least call some sort of truce?"

As he continued his silent treatment, she growled and began to tap her foot impatiently against the laminate flooring. Unknowingly, much to Malfoy's contempt. When he pushed himself up off the sofa and headed towards the door, Hermione saw red. He was intolerable! Merlin, she was trying to be adult about this, could he not see that? Her pride was taking a serious battering and he couldn't even dignify her with a response!

Fortunately for her, Hermione was still clutching her wand. She had figured she may need it at some point during the inevitable conversation that was about to take place. With a flick, the door slammed shut before he could reach it and he scowled as the click of a lock followed suit.

"I refuse to leave this room until this is sorted out and dealt with." Hermione explained, crossing her arms over her chest as if to emphasise her point. "And, since you don't have the privilege of a wand, I suggest that you comply if you wish to get out."

He growled loudly, giving the door a sharp kick and she flinched slightly, glad that he was still facing away from her so as not to see it. "You're a fucking handful, you know that, Mudblood?"

She almost cheered. He may have insulted her, he may have sworn at her and shot the most degrading term in the Wizarding world in her direction, but he had spoken.

"And you're an arrogant pain in the arse! Do you _enjoy_ acting like a twelve year old boy who has just had his broom taken away?"

"_Me_?" He scoffed, spinning around so that his glare could penetrate her to its full effect. "You've got room to talk, Granger. Twelve days? I wasn't aware that you were counting but, I suppose it just proves what an immature little bitch you are."

"Eloquent, Malfoy, really eloquent." She glowered. "I don't know if you remember but, it's your petty insults that got us into this mess in the first place. I hardly think that you are going to make it better by insulting me further. I thought you were supposed to be clever."

"Oh, I am, Granger. Really _fucking _clever. Clever enough to land myself in this place with _you_, of all fucking people!" He highlighted the statement with another sharp kick, this time to the coffee table placed in the centre of the room. She hadn't even noticed that he had moved forward, too wrapped up in the heat of their quarrel.

"Do you have to swear so much?" She huffed.

"Yes, I fucking do." He sneered. "What is it that you want, Granger? What's your problem? What is it that bothers you so much that you can't leave me the fuck alone?"

"I'm supposed to look after you-"

"I'm not a fucking baby!"

"_Then stop acting like one!_" She screamed. "This is utterly ridiculous! We are of _age_ now, Malfoy. We're not children. I have a job to do and you have a sentence to serve so can we _please_ just be civil to each other?"

"Granger, your sorry attempt to cover the situation in rainbows and fucking butterflies isn't going to make me act civil towards you."

"Then what will?" She ground out.

"A blood transplant for a start."

She knew exactly what had come over her as her sight became tinted with a hazy red glow. _He_ had come over her. Sadly, she had sworn to herself that she wouldn't use her wand on him whilst he was unarmed. It was simply unfair and was a means of self defence, if nothing else. And so, she did the only thing that she could have done in the situation that she was in. She acted out on her muggle instincts, picking up a small, glass ornament from the mantel piece and launching it straight at his head.

Much to Hermione's disdain, the object barely touched him, simply shattered into pieces as it came into heavy contact with the wall behind his form. Although her actions did not fail to coax a flinch from him as his eyes widened to the pile of shards upon the floorboards.

"Great idea, Granger, destroying the fucking house! You're just a lightbulb bursting with ideas, aren't you?"

"I am trying to fix this! Why do you insist on making it _so difficult_?" She yelled, enunciating her point by tossing another commodity his way; this time, a vase.

"I never asked you to fix anything, Granger!"

"Well, I have to!" She panted, attempting to run a hand through her hair and meeting a cluster of tangles. "It's in my nature and I'm sorry but, I have to. I can't live like- like _this_! It's horrible! It's driving me insane!"

"Not my problem-"

"Yes, it is your problem, Malfoy!" She interjected, almost hysterically. "You need me. You may not want to admit it and you may not like it but, you need me. I am the only connection you have to the Wizarding world for the next six months and I'm the only one here who can help you-"

"I don't need your help!" He sneered.

"Oh, I think you do." Hermione breathed. "I'm not here to repeat our school days, Malfoy. So, you can either man up and deal with the situation we are in or you can spend the next five months or so in solitary confinement in the Muggle world. Because, legally, I can leave you. Under certain circumstances, yes, but I assure you, you have most definitely created those circumstances. On our first day here, no less."

"You wouldn't fucking dare-"

"Try me." She warned. "Because, as I said before, I'm tired. And I'm not here to argue with you. I'm here to do my job."

"I hate you." Malfoy spat. "I hate you so fucking much!"

"So, do we have a deal?" Hermione asked, ignoring the sense of de ja vu that overcame her.

"Fine." He agreed, reluctantly. "But, I'm not making any promises, Granger. Civility is something I'm not entirely familiar with, as I'm sure you're well aware."

"So, no more silent treatment?"

"No more silence." He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and mumbling under his breath. "Now, will you unlock the door? I need a piss. And clean your shit up before I stand in it."

"You're so pleasant to live with." Hermione commented as she gave another flick of her wand, watching him flee from the room.

* * *

><p>"You can come in, you know?"<p>

Hermione had been watching him in the reflection of one of the glass cabinets as he hovered outside the living room door. He had been out there for at least five minutes and she was beginning to get tired of his endless pacing. She had come in here to relax and watch one of her favourite films and she smiled politely as he slipped into the room with his signature scowl etched upon his features.

"You're sitting on my sofa." He commented dryly.

"I wasn't aware it had your name on it." She shrugged and scooted over to one side. "You're welcome to share, if you so wish."

"Don't flatter yourself, Granger, I'm not that desperate." He smirked, falling onto the sofa opposite.

"Civility, Malfoy." She scolded him, trying desperately to force the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth down.

"No promises, Granger." He mimicked. "What's this shit anyway?" He asked, grimacing and gesturing towards the TV.

"Language." Hermione rolled her eyes. "It's a film – Alice in Wonderland. It's one of my favourites."

"Right," He nodded. "Muggle."

"Yes," She glared. "Muggle. It's not so terrible, you know? Just watch it. I only put it on about ten minutes ago so, you haven't missed much. Don't worry."

"Honestly, Granger, I'm really not." He drawled.

"Oh, shush."

"What are you supposed to do?"

"Nothing, just watch it." She giggled as a look of loss covered his features, much to his disdain. "Give it a chance, Malfoy! You never know, you might find yourself pleasantly surprised."

"I highly doubt it."

* * *

><p>"So?" Hermione encouraged.<p>

"So what?"

"What did you think?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Sappy bullshit."

"Oh, for heaven's sake-"

"You asked for my opinion, I simply gave it." He defended. "Besides, the book is better."

"You've read Alice in Wonderland?" Hermione audibly gasped at the revelation.

"Everybody's read Alice in Wonderland, Ganger."

"And Through the Looking Glass?" She inquired hopefully.

"Goes without saying, doesn't it?" He replied.

Hermione didn't know which phased her more; that he had read, at least, two muggle books, or his utter nonchalance on the subject.

"But, the author is a muggle..."

"No shit, Granger." He rolled his eyes. "Of course, they were no comparison to Beedle the Bard, but they were okay, I suppose."

Hermione laughed loudly at the absurdity of the situation and Draco bristled at her ease around him.

"What the fuck is wrong with you now?"

"It's just," She sighed and wiped her eyes. "You're Draco Malfoy. And you've read _and_ watched Alice in Wonderland. And I know that you secretly enjoyed both versions. And... It's just _weird_, okay?"

"Granger, the only weird thing here is you. You're a fucking-."

"Shush, Malfoy." She glared at him playfully. "I think I'll go and do a little reading. Jane Austen. I highly recommend-"

"Don't start." He scowled. "I can only be civil for so long."

"Of course." She smiled, almost sadly. "Goodnight."

"Night, Granger."

As Hermione climbed into her bed and pulled out her book, she could only think of one thing; Draco Malfoy. Had she or had she not just had a very civil, almost friendly, conversation with the so called git? And had she or had she not enjoyed it?

After agreeing to a lunch date with her boss and making amends with her childhood nemesis, it was hardly surprising that she soon found her eyes drooping for the second time that day. But, the strangest thing was, as she closed her eyes her mind was still resting on a certain blonde Slytherin. And, for once, not all of her thoughts were negative.


	10. Lunch Date

**I'm sorry that this chapter is so short and, well, crap. It's more of a filler chapter. And there will be a point to it eventually. However, some of you may know what June 5th is and will already have an idea of what happens in the next chapter. Namely more Draco/Hermione interaction!**

**I might not get to upload a new chapter for a while now, because I'm honestly so busy. I go back to college in three days, have two exams in four days and then another on the 18th. Anybody who does A Levels will understand my pain. So, I apologise in advance if I become a bit slow with the updates. **

**Thank you for all of your lovely responses on the last chapter and for reading my story. I love you all and I promise to update as soon as I possibly can.**

**As always, I own nothing.**

* * *

><p>June 4th 1998<p>

She was nervous. As mush as it pained her to admit it, Hermione Granger was, indeed, nervous.

The clock was striking five to twelve and her lunch date with Fletch was mere minutes away. In all honesty, she would have much preferred to be at home. Malfoy's constant arrogance and vulgar language she could handle, this she could not. She had taken to pacing the length of her office, counting the rhythmic clicks of her heels as they came into contact with the tiled floor in a sorry attempt to numb the anxiety. She wasn't surprised in the least to find it unsuccessful.

Hermione was hardly well experienced on the dating front. She had had her fair share of love interests but, even she could admit that it had never been anything serious. First came her crush on Gilderoy Lockhart in her second year which had, quite simply, been completely insane. Just a silly schoolgirl crush, nothing more. It could barely count for anything at all.

Then there had been the one time in sixth year when she had asked Cormac McLaggen to Professor Slughorn's Christmas Party, though the event held little to no pleasurable memories. She distinctly remembered that McLaggen had been an absolute arse during the short amount of time she had spent with him. She most definitely did not wish to repeat the experience.

Of course, the entire interaction with McLaggen had been for the sole purpose of making Ron jealous. She had been naïve enough to believe that she was in love with him throughout their latter school years, and seeing him with Lavender Brown had driven her over the metaphorical edge. However, after their wartime kiss, it hadn't taken Hermione long to discover that her infatuation with her red-headed friend was, for lack of a better word, wrong. They were too different, they knew each just a little too well and, moreover, the boy was like a brother to her. It was never worth the risk.

There had also been the rather controversial issue of her relationship with Viktor Krum. She couldn't deny that Viktor had been sweet and had doted on her like a lost puppy; not to mention the minor fact that she had shared her first kiss with him during fourth year. But, Krum had been a little too _physical_ for Hermione's liking. At times, he would become unbearably lascivious, and it seemed as though he would tend to forget that Hermione was somewhat younger than himself.

All in all, as inexperienced as she was, Hermione's love life had most certainly been colourful. But, this was different. It _felt_ different. She wasn't in school anymore and this wasn't a petty Hogwarts crush. She was an adult and Fletch likewise. Though he had left Hogwarts three years prior to herself, so it was only to be assumed that he was much more accustomed to this dating lark than she was.

Was she expected to dress up? It was a lunch date, after all, and was consequently during office hours. She couldn't fathom the energy to spend her morning rummaging through her wardrobe for the perfect outfit. She had enough to deal with trying to get Malfoy to leave the bathroom so that he wouldn't be late for work again. His muggle boss hadn't been particularly appeased after the third time it had happened and had ergo issued the stupid git a warning. Hermione could hardly bare the thought of taking a second trip to the job centre with him; she refused to let him lose this job.

No, she couldn't see the point in getting made up for a date with a man who was able to set eyes on her whenever he so wished. He had seen her looking far worse than at this current moment, with her curls pulled into a loose bun and a simple skirt and shirt ensemble. She appeared presentable and that would just have to do.

_It's just lunch, Hermione_. All morning she had been repeating the same sentence over and over in her mind. It had become some sort of mantra but, was doing little to soothe her qualms. _It's just lunch. It doesn't _have_ to mean anything. It's just lunch. _

An abrupt knock upon her office door had her shooting from her seat, resulting in the fresh stack of files that she had previously finished working on to scatter over the floor. Cursing softly to herself, she bent to pick up the fallen work and called out to the person on the other side of the door to enter.

"Afternoon..." Fletch trailed off as her took in her dishevelled appearance and the arm full of papers she was clutching to her chest.

"Fletch!"

"I believe we have a date." He grinned.

"Right! Yes! Sorry. There was a- a draft." Hermione stuttered, placing the files precariously back onto the edge of her desk and subtly righting her hair.

"A draft?" Fletch smirked, and she could see that he was holding back laughter. "From the window, I assume? The _false_ window. Because we _are_ underground, if you remember..."

"Shut up, Fletch." She glared at him playfully. "I can easily cancel this date, you know?"

"Well, we can't have that now, can we?"

"Exactly." She smiled, grabbing her bag from the hook on the back of her office door and exiting the room with Fletch hot on her heels.

"So," Fletch began as they stepped into an empty lift. "Where are we going? I seem to recall you mentioning delectable lasagne."

"Oh, it's not too far from here." Hermione shrugged. "You'll see."

There was a pregnant pause and Hermione shifted uncomfortably. The only sound was the echo of rattling metal as the lift made its way up to the Atrium and she almost wished that she was with Malfoy. The thought was disturbing in itself and a blush made its way into her cheeks.

"You look beautiful." Fletch commented as he watched her play with a loose curl in an attempt to hide the redness making its way to the rest of her face.

"Erm- I... Thank you." Hermione felt like melting into the ground that her feet were standing upon. His remarks were certainly not appreciated whilst she was trying to shift the evidence of her self-inflicted embarrassment, though they were sweet nonetheless.

She almost gave a sigh of relief as the lift jerked to a halt and the doors slip open to reveal the hustle and bustle of the Atrium. As they entered the crowded space, Fletch took hold of Hermione's hand and she was oh-so-tempted to pull it from his grip. She restrained herself, however, as he looked down at her and smiled. He meant well, surely. She gave him her most authentic smile in return and allowed him to guide her towards the apparition point, her hand held firmly in his own.

The skin contact soon came in useful when Hermione remembered that Fletch was unaware as to where she was taking him. Side-along apparition was, after all, much more easily performed if they were touching. Hermione expertly apparated them to a side street, just off of Diagon Alley and discreetly shook off his grip.

"Which way now?" Fletch asked. "The suspense is killing me."

"You're so sarcastic." Hermione rolled her eyes, though she couldn't possibly hide the smile spreading over her face. "It's just around the corner from here, not far at all."

Hermione led them to their destination, giving a sigh of relief that he had not returned to grab her hand. She didn't understand why it was such a big deal to her. They were just holding hands; she did it with Ron and Harry all the time. Fletch was genuine, honest and he seemed to really like her, so why was she so reluctant? Shouldn't she be head over heels for the guy? She shook her head to shift the thoughts as they rounded a corner, gesturing to a small restaurant metres away from them.

"Welcome to the home of _the_ best lasagne you will ever taste." She smiled.

"You know, if you're wrong, you'll have quite the price to pay." Fletch glared at her mischievously.

"I promise not to disappoint." Hermione assured him as he stepped around to hold open the door in a gentlemanly fashion, causing yet another blush to creep onto her face.

A stubby woman with a friendly smile hobbled up to greet them upon their entry, leading them to a table by the window. Neither bothered to peruse the menu, just simply ordered two lasagne's with a wink on Fletch's part. The one thing that Hermione loved most about the Wizarding world was its ability to produce a steaming hot meal in a matter of seconds. They had barely voiced their order when it appeared on the table in front of them.

"So?" Hermione asked as Fletch took a bite of his food.

"I must admit," He mumbled through a mouthful of the Italian dish. "It is good."

"It's absolutely delicious!" Hermione agreed as she began on her own meal, humming appreciatively as the flavour exploded in her mouth.

"Better than the roast dinners at Hogwarts?"

"Well, that's debatable." Hermione chuckled. "What house were you in at Hogwarts? You never said..."

"Ravenclaw." He shrugged nonchalantly. "Although, houses tend to lose their value a short while after you've left school."

"Well, yes, I suppose they do..." Hermione thought aloud. "Not so much with Malfoy, however. Heaven forbid he should converse with a Gryffindor of his own liberty."

"Things still rocky with our lord and master, then?"

"They're... better." She paused for a moment under his penetrating gaze, attempting to come up with a more thorough explanation of the circumstances at home. "He's still hostile, highly volatile and extremely pretentious but, I think he's slowly settling in. We've come to a truce of sorts."

"I can't imagine he's much fun to live with."

"We tend to stay out of each others way. For our own sake, if nothing else. But, he's not _entirely_ awful. He just needs a firm hand, that's all. It can't possibly be easy considering all the pureblood mania that was drummed into him as a child."

"He's still a vile git." He broke into a grin and continued. "Professionally speaking, of course."

"Hilarious." Hermione rolled her eyes, but smiled nonetheless. "I don't suppose you'd care to talk about something, that is to say, _anything_ other than Malfoy?"

"It's a pleasure to oblige." He assured. "So, how did you get into the Ministry? I mean, you're a war hero. You could do anything your heart desires. Merlin only knows why you chose to work in my department."

"I wanted to help." Hermione answered simply with a blasé shrug of her shoulders.

"Help?"

"Yes, help. Shacklebolt first offered me a placement within the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, straight after the war, which I initially turned down. But, he's a friend. I felt terribly guilty later on. I knew he needed help. Being the Minister for Magic, he was bound to be rushed off his feet after the downfall of Voldemort so, I offered to help out. And, here I am."

"You're too good, Hermione."

"I don't think so." She shook her head in response to his remark. "I don't believe that anybody can be _too_ good."

"What did you want to do? Before helping out at the Ministry, I mean."

"I wanted to travel. I've always dreamed of seeing the world after leaving Hogwarts. I'd love to continue my fight for house-elf rights, the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare. I founded it in my fourth year. Harry and Ron were never particularly impressed but, I think it could catch on. Especially now that the war is over."

"So, spew?"

"S.P.E.W." Hermione swatted his arm. "You're just as bad as them two. Do you have any idea how awfully some Wizards treat house-elves? As if they're nothing above vermin! It's truly horrible. And I know from first hand experience that they are nothing of the sort. A house-elf that Harry befriended in second year, Dobby, died saving my life during the war. It was all very tragic."

"A house-elf saved your life?" Fletch appeared to be genuinely shocked at the prospect of such an act.

Hermione nodded and smiled fondly. "He used to be Malfoy's house-elf, surprisingly enough. Harry tricked Lucius Malfoy into freeing him. It's quite an interesting story."

"And you really believe you can change the old Wizarding views on elves?" The question wasn't at all malicious, simply inquisitive.

"I'd like to think so. I know that it would take time but, eventually, I hope that I could make a difference. Merlin knows that they deserve it."

Fletch seemed to swirl her answer around in his mind before voicing his next question.

"And what about the elves themselves?" He pondered. "Some of them don't want to be freed, do they?"

"Well, no." Hermione frowned, furrowing her eyebrows in response. "Still, you have to take into account the fact that they have never had the opportunity to experience what freedom is. Maybe if they understood it better, they would be more willing to accept it. Or, at least, accept a pay check once a month." She sighed thoughtfully, playing with a piece of lasagne on her plate. "And how about you? Was becoming head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement always Aaron Fletcher's dream?"

"Yes and no." He shrugged. "I wanted to be a lawyer. My parents had always imprinted the idea into my head and I suppose I began to admire it."

"So, was it their influence that pushed you in the direction of Magical law?"

"Sort of. As I said, they encouraged it but, I do love my job. They were never obsessive over the idea. They would have understood if I had wanted to take a different career path."

"Are both of your parents magical?" She blushed at the bluntness of her query. "Sorry, I don't mean to pry. Curiosity gets the better of me sometimes. You don't have to answer-"

"It's fine." He interjected with a wave of his hand. "No, actually. Half and half. Mum's a Muggle and dad's a Wizard. I think that's why they wanted me to go into law; it was the only career that they both understood."

There was a small pause and Hermione suddenly began to giggle, receiving multiple strange looks from the people surrounding them. She let her head fall into her hands and Fletch looked at her, wide eyed, as she continued to laugh into them.

"What?"

"It's just... Well, we're hardly original, are we?" She let another giggle escape her lips. "We're talking about our jobs! I mean, we work together, and we're talking about our jobs."

"You're completely mental." Fletch chuckled as her laughter increased.

"All the best people are."

"I'll tell you something though," He commented. "You were right."

"About what?"

"That was _the_ best lasagne I've ever tasted." He nodded towards the empty plate before him, causing Hermione to begin on a new bout of laughter.

* * *

><p>She collapsed onto the sofa with a heavy sigh. Hermione Granger was, without a doubt, <em>impossible<em> to please. Fletch was perfect. Flawlessly so. He had been nothing but a true gentleman to her ever since the moment they had met. He had respected her and given her a great time on their lunch date and, no matter how hard she may try, she could not find one fault on him.

So, why on _earth_ did she decline his offer of a second date?

She had refused his offer politely and had tried her very best not to hurt his feelings. She was almost certain that she must have lost her mind during the war. Sanity screamed at her that she should be falling for the guy like he was her very own gravitational pull. Yet, all she saw was another Harry or another Ron. Another brother. _Why? _

Given the events of the day, all Hermione wished to do was crawl into bed with a good book and, possibly, a hot chocolate. Despite the warm weather, the drink would never fail to calm her nerves in situations such as this. However, there was one small dilemma restricting her from doing as such. A blonde haired pain in the arse kind of dilemma.

"Granger?" She heard him call from the landing, though she refused to budge. She simply groaned and nuzzled her face further into the cushions scattered over the couch. "Granger!"

"What?" She whined into the fabric. She highly doubted that he had heard her.

"Granger!" He was closer now. It sounded as if he was at the living room door yet, she still didn't look up. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"Dying." Came her sarcastic reply. "What do you want?"

"Finally? I've been waiting seven year to hear news as good as that." Malfoy smirked and she threw a cushion his way, glowering deeply as he caught it swiftly. "What date is it today?"

"Monday, why?"

"Not _day_, Granger! Fucking hell, you're hard work. What _date_ is it today?"

"There's no need to be so snappy about it." She defended. "It's the fourth of June. Why?"

"No reason."

"Is there something particularly significant about the fourth?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

"Then why ask?"

"Are you always this bloody intrusive?" He glared at her and Hermione knew what was coming next, even before he opened his mouth. "Fuck off, Granger."

"Lovely." She rolled her eyes and pushed up from the sofa, unaffected by his remark. It missed its usual malice and so, failed to provoke his desired response from her. "I'm going to bed."

"You've only just gotten home!"

"Yes, and if you hadn't noticed, I was three hours late! Shacklebolt sent me a tiresome lot of new cases down at the last minute and I had to stay behind."

"I thought you loved work. I'm quite sure that you would have slept in that library at Hogwarts if Pince had let you. I heard her throwing you out a few times when you stayed past curfew-"

"Sod off, Malfoy." She spat, trying to shove past him in a sorry attempt to leave the room. "I've been busy and I'm tired so, I am going to bed."

"At least you're not stuck in a room full of fucking Muggles for nine hours a day. That job takes the piss." He growled frustratedly, still blocking her exit from the room and seeming unlikely to move. "All they give a shit about is coffee and what happened between Clarice and Dean last Friday. I don't even know who fucking Clarice and Dean are! Why can't I just change it?"

"Because you can't, Malfoy! You're hardly qualified for this job, let alone another, and, in all honesty, I don't have the energy to deal with you bitching and moaning about not understanding a different job. It took me long enough to teach you how to do this one properly. You can't even wake up and arrive there on time for Merlin's sake!"

"I thought you were supposed to _take care_ of me?" He chided.

"Yes, and I do. I cook three out of seven nights _and_ order the take-away on Saturdays. You are male. What more could you possibly wish for?"

"You're no fun, Granger."

"I'm not paid to have fun, Malfoy. I'm paid to keep you in line."

"You're a miserable bitch tonight. What's up with you?"

"I'm tired! I just want to go to bed. Now, will you please move out of my way?"

"Fine." He scowled, reluctantly stepping aside and glaring continuously at her retreating form.

All this in the name of civility. What a piss take.


	11. Eighteen

**I'm so sorry for such a late update. I had a load of exams and coursework (which I still haven't done and will probably be murdered for) and I've just generally been really busy. But, I'm back now! Hopefully updates will be back to normal from now on.**

**Anyway, have a long chapter in apology. I hope it was worth the wait! I spent my Sunday writing this. You see, I punished myself. Enjoy.**

**I own nothing.**

* * *

><p>5th June 1998<p>

"We have no butter. Or jam for that matter." Hermione uttered apologetically, placing a piled high plate of dry toast in the centre of the table. "We should go shopping soon. The cupboards are becoming unbearably empty."

"It's fine. I'll go and get a few things later on." Draco shrugged, causing Hermione to pause lifting a piece of toast to her mouth and gape at him.

"_You_?" She asked sceptically. "You want to go shopping?"

"Yes, Granger. Me."

"But you hate it!"

"Well, if I'm going to spend my inhumanely hard earned wage on muggle crap, I should at least be in charge of it."

"Will you be okay?" Hermione asked cautiously after pondering over his comment. "I mean, I know you don't fare so well in the presence of... _well_, muggles."

"Granger, you have dragged me – unwillingly, might I add - to that place a countless number of times since this ungodly sentence began. Not to mention I have to spend a gruelling nine hours with your lot every day at work. I'm sure I'll survive."

Hermione watched him carefully, grabbing another slice of toast from the pile and focusing all of her attention upon the blackened, overcooked crust. She had taken to ignoring him whenever he called her a muggle. She was tired of correcting the prat. But, something wasn't right. Malfoy was acting terribly strange this morning. He had allowed her to shower first without argument, he hadn't even insulted her. Not even mildly. Not once. And now he was offering to go shopping.

She had expected him to shout at her and insist that it was all her fault that they had run out of butter. He had done so when they had run out of milk last week. She knew how much he despised dry toast. But... he hadn't. He hadn't reacted in the slightest. It was almost unnerving.

"Malfoy, is there something wrong?" She blurted out, refusing to drag her eyes away from the cluster of crumbs forming on her side of the table. "You're being unnaturally compliant today. Not to mention you've been almost friendly to me. It's-"

"I'm being civil, Granger." He sighed, rolling his eyes and pushing the plate of toast away from himself. "I thought that was what you wanted."

"It is." She reassured him, nodding fervently. "I'm not complaining. Really, I'm not. Far from it... I'm just- I suppose I'm just curious as to what it is that's brought all of this decency on."

"I barely understand the meaning of the word _decency_, Granger, so I hardly think that I'm capable of portraying such a vile act. I just can't be bothered arguing with you. Not today."

"Why? What's so special about today?"

"Nothing-"

"No, go on. I want to know." She insisted, dropping her own toast and leaning back into her chair, folding her arms across her chest.

"Fucking hell, Granger, just drop it!" Malfoy snapped, slamming his palms down onto the table and standing up.

"Fine!" Hermione replied indignantly, mimicking the act. "I was only trying to help!"

"I don't need your help." He glowered. "Why the fuck would I need _your_ help?"

"Because something is clearly bothering you!"

"There's nothing wrong with me! Stop bloody fussing, it's suffocating! I just- I feel like shit. I'm going to call into work and tell them I'm ill and I'll go shopping later. Happy?"

"You're ill?"

"Even purebloods get ill Granger, surprisingly enough."

"Shut up, I know that." She glared at him. "You were fine last night. Are you going to be okay? Do you need me to call a doctor?"

"What the fuck is a _doctor_?"

"A muggle healer." She shrugged and focused her attention on him. "Do you want me to call one? It might be serious. Do you feel sick? Do you have a temperature? Come here, let me feel your head-"

"Get the fuck away from me!" Malfoy cried, jumping from his seat and stepping away from her outstretched palm. "What the hell are you doing? You're a bloody mental case, Granger!"

"I'm trying to check your temperature!" She bit back. "It might be flu. Or maybe hayfever. Do you suffer from hayfever. A lot of people do this time of year, you know? I have some tablets in the bathroom if you'd like-"

"Granger, seriously, if you don't shut up I'm going to physically throw you out of this house. Merlin, I'm fine. Just piss off and go to work. I need peace. I need you to leave me the hell alone for a couple of hours before I lose my fucking mind. I assure you I won't die in your absence."

"Are you sure? I hate leaving people alone when they're ill-"

"I'm fucking fine! It's probably just a cold. I always knew muggles were disease ridden twats. It's probably from work."

"Muggles aren't disease ridden, Malfoy." Hermione jabbed him in the chest to emphasise her point, then stepped back to assess him one more time. "Are you sure you'll be okay? You know what to do if you get a fever or something, don't you? I can always-"

"Look, I won't go into the light. Happy now?"

"No. There's something else, I know there is." She commented airily, picking up her wand and making her way towards the kitchen door. "We live together, Malfoy. I'm forced to spend almost every waking moment in your presence. It's difficult not to notice when something is the matter."

"You're worse than my mother."

"It's my job to be worse than your mother." Hermione smiled. "I'm going to work. By the time I get back, I'll know exactly what's on your mind and we're going to talk about it-"

"You're not a fucking therapist, Granger-"

"No. I'm not. However, I refuse to watch you mope around the house for heaven knows how long. It's almost pitiful."

"Well, I look forward to that. Honestly, I'm pissing ecstatic." He chided her bitterly. He had pinned his hopes on one of her infamous explosive reactions just to take his mind off things. "And good luck trying to find out what's _wrong_ with me. I assure you that you will find nothing."

"We'll see." Hermione sighed as she slipped out of the kitchen. "Call me if you need anything!"

Draco scowled at the spot she had been standing in just seconds before and growled, aiming a sharp kick at the table leg. He had been counting on another one of their screaming episodes. They were normal. They meant _normality_. And normality was hard to come by whilst being stuck in this place. Muggles were hardly desirable company.

And Granger was so fucking clueless! As if he would call her at work, even if there _was_ something wrong. She had only acquired the bleeding telephone for him. She left her number written in almost every room. He was adamant that he would never use it, so he hardly saw the point.

However, the fact that she cared so bloody much stirred up feelings that he wasn't at all accostomed to. They made him uncomfortable and they most certainly were not welcome. She hated him and he hated her. She wasn't _supposed_ to care. He didn't _want_ her to care. It was disgusting. And she wouldn't find out the truth, of that he was sure. It was impossible. How could she? Besides, it wasn't as if he _wanted_ her to know. Merlin, no. Of course he didn't. Today was just another day, just like any other. There was certainly no point in making an unnecessary fuss over something so painfully trivial.

* * *

><p>Something definitely wasn't right. And Hermione was determined to find out what. Mafloy was upset, that much was obvious. However, she knew him well enough to know that he would rather snap his own wand in half than admit to it. He couldn't have been ill. He was never ill. In all the years she had known him at Hogwarts, she was almost positive that he had had less time off classes than she had. No, something was definitely bothering him. Something important. And she would find out, she really would. She just didn't know exactly how.<p>

Much to her disdain, she was stuck at work. Although, this wasn't necessarily a bad thing. She enjoyed work, she enjoyed getting out of the house for hours at a time and she enjoyed talking to her colleagues. Yet, she had been having trouble avoiding Fletch these past couple of days. It seemed he was intent on talking to her at least once every day. It was only a matter of time before he asked her out again. But, the problem was that she just wasn't sure how she would answer such a question when it happened to arise.

Hermione liked Fletch. Really, she did. Why wouldn't she? He was perfect for her. But, there was something missing. Something that was bugging her endlessly. Fletch was a brilliant boss and a brilliant friend, but romantically, it was just... awkward. Even inside her own head it made no sense. She was over Ron, wasn't she? It wasn't as if she had any other love interests on the go. Maybe she simply needed to get out of the office. It was small and the walls were much too close together for her liking. Her stomach growled, signalling that she could do with lunch. Harry and Ron had gotten back from their latest mission yesterday afternoon, it would be good to see them. Maybe the fresh air would help her to come to her senses.

Grabbing her bag and lunch that she had brought from home, she headed out of her office and towards the Atrium. It was just reaching twelve o'clock anyhow, meaning that Ron would have dragged Harry to the Leaky Cauldron by now. Hermione had tried to convince him to try her favourite restaurant once. It hadn't really ended well when he had seen 'low fat' written beside one of the dishes on the menu.

It appeared as though she was to spend the rest of her foreseeable lunches in the dingy pub. Personally, she couldn't see the appeal. It was dark and damp and almost always filled with drunks who tended to fall asleep at the bar after a particularly painful karaoke solo. She reluctantly stepped through the threshold and, as was expected, spotted a flame of red hair towards the usual back table. Only, this wasn't the usual tuft of messy, short hair. This was a head of perfectly long and straight hair. _Girl's_ hair.

"Ginny?"

"Hermione!" She squealed, jumping out of her seat and throwing her arms around Hermione's neck.

"What are you doing here?"

"Oh, well, it's nice to see you too." She rolled her eyes, taking her seat next to Harry. "Harry just got back from the mission, remember? I wanted to spend some time with him. He was gone for a week, you know? A whole week, Hermione!"

"Yes, I know. It was devastating." Hermione muttered sarcastically, sliding in beside Ron who was already busying himself with a plate of chips. "I suppose you wanted to spend some quality time with your big brother too?"

"Oh, Merlin no. He just invites himself along. Don't you, Ron?" Ginny nudged him, but he barely acknowledged her and Hermione could help but laugh.

"I always did admire that magical sibling relationship you share."

"It makes me thankful to be an only child." Harry commented.

"They love each other really." Hermione smiled.

"So," Ginny leaned in, grinning. Hermione knew this move and it never failed to make her nervous. "How's Malfoy?"

"Why is that the first question anybody ever asks me these days?" Hermione grumbled. "Malfoy's Malfoy. How much do you expect the situation to change?"

"Well, how are you dealing with being near him? Like all the time? Like when he gets out of the shower and he's wearing nothing but a towel? Don't you just want to-"

"Merlin, Gin! Honestly? This is Malfoy we are talking about! _Draco Malfoy_!" Hermione cried. "Not to mention your boyfriend is sat right next you! I think you've traumatized poor Harry. Look at his face!"

It was true. The colour had drained from Harry's face before Ginny could even get a word out. It seemed he knew her as well as Hermione did. Ron wasn't faring much better either. He had managed to spill tomato sauce down his shirt in the middle of his sister's interrogation and seemed completely unaware of the fact.

"It was purely theoretical, _obviously_." Ginny sighed. "You're no fun. The lot of you. You're boring."

"And you're bloody mental!" Ron choked out.

"Can we just never mention Malfoy again? Please?" Harry asked weakly.

"I'm more than happy to oblige to that request. Thank you, Harry. Thank you so much." Hermione replied.

"Fine." Ginny groaned. "Oh! I know what we can talk about, Hermione! I got my Hogwarts letter this morning. And you'll never guess what."

"What?"

"I'm a prefect!" She beamed. "I know it's not quite Head Girl, but all the same..."

"That's fantastic! Oh, well done Ginny! Really, I'm so happy for you!"

"So, what's it like? Being a prefect. I'd ask Ron but..."

"Yes, I see what you mean." Hermione giggled, looking over at Ron who had moved onto the eggs. "Oh, it's the best, Gin. You're going to absolutely love it!"

* * *

><p>Lunch had helped. She had hoped it would and was glad to have been right. It was good to see Ginny again. She didn't have many girl friends and it was nice to be able to have somebody who understood the things that Harry and Ron could never quite grasp. Also, the prospect of Ginny becoming a prefect had helped to cheer her up significantly. It sounded as if seventh year was something she would have thouroughly enjoyed herself. Of course, the war had made that impossible. She had barely been able to acknowledge her seventh year, let alone enjoy it.<p>

Naturally, being Hermione Granger, clearing her head was a wasted effort. As she pushed open the door to her office, she realised that finding it unlocked certainly wasn't the worst of her worries. No, that would be Narcissa Malfoy. Narciss Malfoy who was currently sat at the desk, seated opposite Hermione's chair with an expression of pure determination mixed in with desperation etched upon her features.

"Mrs Malfoy?" Hermione asked cautiously, moving around the desk to take a seat herself. "What can I do for you?"

"Oh, Miss Granger. I hate to disturb you like this. I know you must be terribly busy with the aftermath of the war and... well, you see, Mr Fletcher allowed me to wait for you here. I have a request, you see."

"A request?" Hermione furrowed her brows and gestured for the blonde woman to continue.

"I wouldn't ask if it wasn't so important to me. I wasn't going to, not at all, but I could hardly sleep with the guilt. Us Malfoy's aren't at all familiar with the feeling, as I'm sure you're aware. You are living with my son, after all." Narcissa paused, chewing her lip. It seemed as though she was contemplating on what to say next. "It's Draco's birthday today, you see... his eighteenth. And I'd be ever so grateful if you could pass on a birthday card from me. He must be so terribly lonely with only you for company. I don't think I could bare it if I didn't at least wish him a happy birthday."

"He's not lonely." Hermione defended. "In fact, I believe he rather enjoys testing my patience. It must pass the time for him-"

"I'm sorry, Miss Granger." Narcissa interrupted. "I didn't mean to offend you. Really, I didn't. That wasn't my intention at all... I just- He's all alone out there in the muggle world. And I imagine that he must be missing his family and friends desperately. It feels like such a long time considering where he is and why he is there. Not at all how it felt when he left for Hogwarts. I'd hate to have him think that I'd forgotten his birthday."

Well, at least she now knew what had been bothering Malfoy all morning. Come to think of it, he had seemed utterly miserable. Oh, how could she not know? It was his birthday! Of course it was! She had read over his file countless times, again and again. His birth date was the second piece of information printed onto the inside cover, right underneath his name. How could she have not realised?

However, this was still Malfoy. The foul git that she had hated relentlessly for over seven years. She shouldn't feel guilty. She shouldn't feel bad. She shouldn't feel anything! Yet... she did. She felt it all.

"Mrs Malfoy..." Hermione tried her best to come up with a way to phrase this without upsetting the woman. "I-"

"Please!" She sputtered. "I _know_ that it's against the rules of his sentence. I do! I know that he is to have no contact whatsoever with his family. But, it's his birthday! It's just a card. I just want to let him know that I'm thinking of him. Nothing more. Please, Miss Granger."

"I'd love to, I really would, but I can't." Hermione sighed. "It's against the rules. It could jeopardize my whole career to accept a card from you. I'm sorry, Mrs Malfoy, I really am... But, I can't."

"Please, Hermione. Merlin, it's only a card! Nobody has to know! He's my son! Please!"

"I'm sorry, Mrs Malfoy. I just can't. Draco is lucky to have been let off with the sentence he has been given. The Wizengamot are not known for their kindness. I can't endanger that. To allow you to contact him in any way would be to break the rules and put both me and your son in danger of a harsh punishment."

"I could pay you for your troubles." Narcissa almost begged. Hermione had never seen anything so heartbreaking. "I have galleons. Please, just let me give him a birthday card. I can't bare to think of him without his friends and family wishing him a happy birthday. He always has such a huge celebration. He's used to so much attention today. I can't just leave him."

"I'm sorry." Hermione whispered, her voice on the verge of breaking as she gazed into Narcissa's eyes. She had never seen a Malfoy cry before. It wasn't as satisfying as she had imagined it would be. Not in the slightest. "I'm so sorry. But, I can't."

Narcissa seemed as though she wished to take it further. That famous Malfoy temper was brewing and Hermione could feel it. Just when it looked as though she was about to scream bloody murder in Hermione's direction, she simply took a shaky breath and nodded.

"I understand." She sighed defeatedly. Hermione was almost worried about the woman. She had never seen a Malfoy in such a sorry state. "Would you- what I mean to say is, could you possibly be able to inform him that I dropped by? Just to say happy birthday."

"I-" She was supposed to say no, but the broken sight of Narcissa was pulling on her heartstrings just a little too hard. She would never know if she went against her word. Just a little white lie to make the mother feel better... "Of course."

Narcissa nodded once more, took another shaky breath to compose herself and rose from the chair. She turned to leave and Hermione was just about to distract herself with her work when she turned back around, hand on the door knob. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, Mrs Malfoy." Hermione smiled sadly at her. "I'm sorry that I couldn't have been more help."

And with that, Narcissa Malfoy stepped out of her office, leaving a very confused and guilt ridden Hermione behind her.

How could she have been so stupid? It was Malfoy's birthday. It was the most obvious thing in the world. She should have figured it out straight away. She should have known in the first place! It seemed she had a lot of making up to do with the blond. The prospect didn't exactly thrill her, but at this precise moment in time she was feeling too awful to care. She had always stood by the belief that nobody should be alone on their birthday. She wasn't about to break it for him.

* * *

><p>"I'm back!" Hermione called out as she dumped her bag onto the cabinet by the front door. She had never expected a response.<p>

She found him in the living room, sprawled out on the sofa – his sofa – looking more miserable than she had ever witnessed him looking. Hermione was used to his brooding and his moaning, but she had never known him to be so downhearted. It made her feel almost nervous around him.

She refused to be nervous around Draco bloody Malfoy, birthday or no birthday.

"Are you still unwell?" She asked, leaning against the doorframe to look at him.

"Yes." It was barely a reply, but he turned to scowl at her nonetheless.

"Do you want me to get you anything? I could get you some paracetamol, it will help you feel better."

"I'm fine."

"Malfoy, is there something else bothering you today?"

"No." He shrugged. "Why?"

"Oh, I was just curious..." She sighed and sat down on her sofa. "You just look so down. I'm sure there must be something bothering you. You can tell me, you know? I don't mind."

"I told you, I'm fine. Just leave me the fuck alone."

Hermione didn't budge. She was determined to get the truth from him. However, it was difficult when looking at the expression on his face almost made her want to cry. He looked so lonely. It was true. Maybe Narcissa had been right. Maybe he was more vulnerable than she believed him to be. The thought was disturbing and yet, she couldn't shake it off.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Do I look like I want to fucking talk about it?" He snapped.

"So, there _is_ something to talk about?"

"No! Granger, will you please just get lost?" He sighed defeatedly.

Hermione almost gasped. "Did I hear you correctly? Did you just say please?" She smiled. "Did Draco Malfoy just say please to a muggleborn such as myself?"

"Yes. And I'll say it again if it will get you to leave me alone."

"No, it won't. But I would love to hear it." She grinned, only to have him frown at her.

"Not a chance, Granger. It was a once in a lifetime experience, nothing more."

"Well, that's a shame. It was rather pleasant to listen to, so much more becoming than your usual vulgar language."

"Granger, go away." He groaned, turning his face into the cushions.

"You look pitiful."

"I couldn't even begin to give a shit if I tried." He murmured into the material.

He wasn't going to admit to it, that much was obvious. Why did he have to be so irritatingly stubborn? The guilt was beginning to feel as if it was eating at her from the inside. It was horrible. She had never felt so awful. Malfoy certainly wasn't making the situation any easier as he lay on his sofa, unmoving and looking absolutely pathetic. She had been able to feel her resolve breaking from the moment Narcissa Malfoy had left her office that afternoon.

"Bugger this!" She cried, jumping up from the sofa and heading back towards the door. "I'll be back later."

She didn't give him a chance to question her, simply took advantage of her apparition for once and left the house with a sharp crack.

* * *

><p>Hermione had sworn to herself that she would never return to this place. It held too many memories. Horrible memories. Memories that she would give anything to forget. But, this was important. She couldn't deal with Malfoy's suffering a moment longer. After all, didn't they say that desperate times call for desperate measures? And this was certainly a desperate measure.<p>

It appeared no different to how she remembered it, to how it had appeared to her on that terrible day. It was still dark, still dreadful to the utmost extreme as it loomed above her. It still chilled her to the bone just to be in its presence.

She supposed that Malfoy Manor was akin to the family who usually resided within it; intimidating and uncomfortable.

Was she supposed to knock? Surely there was a bell somewhere. In a building this size, it must be difficult to hear if anybody knocks. Nevertheless, there was no bell, no buzzer, no nothing. Though she supposed there wouldn't be, not at the home of such prestigious purebloods. So, she rapped on the dark wood three times and hoped for the best. She barely had to wait ten seconds when a little house elf pulled open the heavy door.

"Good evening, Miss. How can Mattie help you, Miss?"

"Hello, Mattie." She smiled down at the elf with ears just a little bit too big for the rest of her frame, swathed in what appeared to be an old pillow case. "My name is Hermione Granger. Would it be possible to speak with Narcissa Malfoy?"

"Why would you like to speak to my Mistress, Miss?"

"I'm here in regards to her son, Draco Malfoy." Hermione explained.

Mattie's eyes widened considerably at the mention of her master. Hermione had to hold in a laugh as she watched her fluster.

"Mattie will be right back, Miss. I must go and fetch my Mistress, Miss."

Hermione stood before the threshold of the manor awkwardly whilst she waited for Mattie to return with Narcissa. She was thankful that it didn't take long, it was hard to be in the presence of such a place on her own.

"Miss Granger?" Narcissa asked. "Oh, Merlin, is it Draco? Is he okay? Is he hurt? Has something happened to him? Miss Granger, please-"

"He's fine, Mrs Malfoy! Draco's fine." Hermione assured.

"I don't mean to be rude Miss Granger, but then why are you here?"

"I've been thinking about what you said," Hermione began, trying her best to beat down the nerves and the butterflies in her stomach. "I think- what I mean to say is that you were right about what you said. After all, it is his birthday, he should be allowed a little something. And I'm sorry that I refused to take your card to Draco. I know how much it would mean to you both."

"What are you saying?" Narcissa whispered with raised eyebrows.

"What I'm saying is that I am willing to take a birthday card to your son." Narcissa beamed at the news and was about to say something when Hermione stopped her. "On one condition. Mrs Malfoy, nobody can know. You can't tell anybody that I allowed this. It would put both my job and the severity of your son's sentence at risk."

"Of course, of course. I won't tell a soul." Narcissa nodded, reaching into her robe. "I have it right here. I didn't want to let it go, you see. Just in case... It's silly, I know, but-"

"I understand, Mrs Malfoy. Really, I do."

"I know it may be too much to ask but... I have a present too. It's only a little something."

"Oh, I don't know, I-" Hermione was going to protest until she saw the pleading look in the mother's eyes. "Okay. Okay, I'll take the present to Draco too. But, nobody can know, Mrs Malfoy. Please remember that!"

"Yes, yes, thank you, Miss Granger!"

Hermione took the card from her first and then she handed her the present. It was only a small gift, no bigger than the palm of her hand and wrapped in expensive paper. Though, she couldn't have expected any less from Draco Malfoy's mother.

"Thank you ever so much Miss Granger. I really am grateful."

"I know." Hermione nodded as she slipped the gifts into her bag, preparing to apparate. "Goodbye, Mrs Malfoy."

* * *

><p>She didn't apparate back to the house straight away, but took a detour. She had lived with Draco long enough now to know his likes and dislikes, and Chinese take-away was, by far, his favourite. Of course, they only ever had take-away on a Saturday night, simply to even out who cooked on what days. Neither was willing to do more, both as stubborn as each other. But, after all, this was Draco's birthday. And she certainly had some making up to do for not knowing.<p>

Upon arriving back home, she found Draco in the same position she had left him in; sprawled out on the sofa with his face stuffed into the cushions. He looked as sorrowful as ever.

"Draco?" Hermione asked tentatively. "Are you asleep?"

"Yes." He groaned, slowly lifting his head. "I thought you'd finally done as you were told and buggered off elsewhere."

"I did..." She shuffled further into the room and sat down on the arm of the sofa that he was lying on. "I got us a take-away. Chinese."

"It's Tuesday, Granger." He furrowed his eyebrows and sat up to look at her.

"Yes, I know." She smiled. "Tuesday 5th June. And, I do believe that it's your birthday today."

"What-"

"Correct me if I'm mistaken, but you turn eighteen today, do you not?"

"Yes, but I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to make a pissing fuss out of it."

"It's your birthday, Draco, I can't not make a fuss. Everybody should celebrate their birthday."

"Stop calling me Draco. It's unnatural."

"No. As I said, it's your birthday. I figured I'd give you the gift of a first name."

"I don't give a shit if it's my birthday. I don't want to celebrate it. It's just another day, Granger. It's not as if I have anybody to celebrate it with, so there's no fucking point."

"You have me-"

"You're honestly deluded enough to think that I'd celebrate my birthday with you? I'm not that desperate, Granger, fucking hell."

"Oh, you will. You're lonely-"

"I'm not lonely!" He snarled. "Just fuck off and leave me alone!"

"No, I don't think I will." Hermione shook her head and slid onto the seat beside him, ignoring the fact that he shuffled away. "You see, I spent good money on this Chinese and I don't plan to eat it by myself. I even went to the gruelling effort of ordering you chop suey, and you know how I despise the smell of it-"

"Granger, I'm not fucking around. Seriously, just-"

"And," Hermione interjected. "I had a visit from your mother today. Awfully worried, she was. She had a card for you and, well, rules are rules, so I had to refuse."

"What the f-"

"But, I did feel a little guilty, I must admit. So, I took a trip to your house and your mother gave me a card and a present for you. I must say, it was awfully wrong of me to accept them, after all it is against the rules of your sentence. But, I suppose I can make an exception... Just for today. So long as nobody finds out, obviously. I would get in a lot of trouble. I'm risking my job for you. I hope you're pleased with yourself."

"Me? How is it my fault?"

"Well, if you hadn't looked so pitiful, I wouldn't have bothered." She grinned.

"You're getting on my last nerve, Granger." He sneered. However, Hermione didn't miss the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Do you take pride in being so bloody meddlesome? It's a very unattractive trait to have."

"I just can't help myself." She shrugged, pulling the gift from Narcissa from her bag and handing them over to him. "Happy birthday, Draco."

He took the card and the present wordlessly, ripping them open before her eyes. The card was simple and yet Hermione guessed that it had set Narcissa back a heavy sack of galleons. She didn't get to see what was written inside.

"No mention of my father, I see." He grimaced. "Though, why should there be?"

Hermione didn't speak. She didn't really know what to say to such a remark. He had never mentioned his father before, not really. The only time he had ever acknowledged him was during one of their earlier quarrels, and those times had never ended particularly pleasantly. He opened the small box next, revealing a silky, black ring box. He popped it open and smirked.

"Of course." He let out a short laugh. "The family ring. I lost it during the battle of Hogwarts last year. Only mother would be sentimental enough to have it replaced."

"I think it's lovely." Hermione commented quietly, admiring the piece of jewellery.

The right was bulky and yet elegant in its own personal way. A solid silver snake seemed to have been wrapped into an intricate knot to create the piece and a small, dark emerald stone was set into the silver in place of an eye. It wasn't altogether Hermione's taste, but it was radiant nonetheless.

"Will you wear it?" She asked.

"I suppose so. She would only nag at me if she saw me without it."

"You don't like it." It was more of a statement than a question.

"It reminds me of sixth year." He frowned, closing the lid on the ring. "I'd much rather I wasn't reminded of that period in my life. It doesn't exactly hold the happiest of memories."

"I suppose not..." Hermione murmured. She quickly shook herself out of her thoughts and stood up, grabbing the carrier bag on the coffee table. "Chinese?"

"With you?"

"Well, I'd prefer it if we didn't eat alone like sad, lonely old Goblins." She chuckled. "Besides, I could do with the conversation. I'm running out of books-"

"_You _are running out of books?"

"What?" She glared. "I'm due a trip to the book shop."

"We have a library, Granger." He smirked. "A whole library."

"Well... I've read everything." She stuttered, a blush creeping slowly up her neck. "Anyway! Chinese! Come on, I'm starving."

"Fine, if you insist." He smirked. "But, you do know that I still hate you, don't you? This changes nothing." His tone was serious, his stare almost penetrating and Hermione would have been hurt had she not convinced herself of the same thing.

"I wouldn't have it any other way, Malfoy."


	12. Troubled

**I'm so, so sorry that this update is so late. **

**Okay, so my laptop broke and I lost my plan for this story. So, I had to rewrite it all from memory and make sure it all fit in with what I'd written so far. I've had so much work for college that I've hardly had time for anything else. And I've been ill. These are my excuses for why I'm so awful. I'm sorry.**

**I won't make any more false promises about updating. I'll update when I can. I hope it was worth the wait and thank you so much for being patient. **

**I don't really really like this chapter, there's not enough Draco/Hermione interaction for my liking. But, next chapter there will be plenty. And I'm going to start writing it tomorrow, so watch this space. **

**I own nothing.**

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><p>13th June 1998<p>

Hermione's day had been gruelling.

It was Wednesday, which meant that she was to initiate her weekly visit to the Wizarding prison, Azkaban. Such a task was far from appealing at the best of times, but her mind appeared to be drifting all too frequently that day. To Malfoy, no less. And her lack of attention had resulted in her return to the prison, almost immediately, for the second time that day. She had forgotten the reports – the one, sole reason she had entered Azkaban in the first place.

Hermione deemed her rare ignorance to the rest of the world much more worrisome than the thoughts causing it. It was only natural that Malfoy would be playing on her mind, surely. He _was_ her main priority when it came to her career. Not to mention the little, insignificant fact that they _lived _together. His presence was enough to drive her to the brink of insanity, for Merlin's sake! Yes, inevitably she would think of him. It was normal. Completely rational.

And whenever Malfoy _did_ cross her mind, deliberately or not, Hermione aimed to include keywords such as 'arse' and 'ferret' amidst her usual internal ranting. And these keywords were safe. They ensured that he was Draco Malfoy and she was Hermione Granger. They ensured her hatred for him and his unending arrogance that irked her on a daily basis. They ensured normality.

However, today's thoughts weren't normal. No, they were – dare she say it – _good_. Pleasant, even. In fact, she hadn't had a negative thought about the Slytherin all day. Quite the opposite. She had been unable to pick a fault with Malfoy lately. He was doing everything she had hoped he would do. He was civil, sometimes even friendly. He stayed clear of her when she needed space, he didn't insult her without reason and she could almost always hold a half decent conversation with him. They hadn't fought once since his birthday last week! Merlin forgive her, was she actually becoming to think of him as a _friend_? Surely not. An ally, maybe, but a friend? Was that really possible when it came to the likes of them?

So, maybe she didn't hate Malfoy as much as she was accustomed to at Hogwarts. But, they weren't at school any more. They were adults. And maybe that meant-

"You can go."

"What?" Hermione asked, blinking rapidly as the rest of the world made its way into focus.

"I said you can go." Fletch smirked, dragging each word out for emphasis as if he was addressing a small child.

"But, it's only two o'clock."

"Well, Alice showed up. Apparently, she wants more work. Something about designer robes, I don't know. But, she needs the money, so I thought I'd give you the honour of an early get away."

Hermione bit her lip in response. Her work was hardly captivating her today, but she still had a lot to get through. She couldn't afford to fall behind otherwise she would be doing overtime for the rest of the week. Not to mention she had promised Ginny that she would drop by the Burrow after work, and she had been postponing that visit for as long as was politely possible. Hermione wasn't stupid. She knew exactly what Ginny wanted to talk to her about and today's train of thought hadn't particularly encouraged her to broach the topic.

"Oh, Fletch, I can't." She sighed heavily, dropping her head into her hands which were resting upon the desk. "You know how much work I have to get through on Wednesdays. It's two o'clock for Merlin's sake. I can't leave work so early, what if-"

"What?" Fletch asked sceptically, raising an eyebrow. "Your boss finds out?"

"Your humour never ceases to amaze me, Fletch, honestly."

"Go on." He chuckled, grabbing her coat and bag from the hook on the back of her office door and moving to pull her out of her chair. "Besides, you look as if you're having way too much fun for my liking. You might pull something if you carry on like this. It's not healthy."

"Sarcasm is awfully unattractive."

"I'm aware. Now go on, get out. Otherwise I'll be legally obliged to suspend you."

"I'd love to see you try." Hermione laughed. "This whole department would fall apart without me and you know it. I'm your best asset."

"Whatever you want to believe, Hermione." He sighed, dragging her reluctant form into the corridor and locking the office door behind them with a wave of his wand. "Now go home."

"But-"

"I insist."

"Fletch, I-"

"I'll see you tomorrow." He chirped, backing away towards his own office.

"Fine." She huffed, glaring at him as he rounded the corner. "But I'll get you back for this!"

Hermione let out a small whimper from under her breath as she forced herself towards the apparition point. She wasn't looking forward to this particular confrontation, but she had held it off for far too long. Ginevra Weasley wasn't very well known for her patience. When it came to gossip – particularly that of the male variety – she would often rival Lavender and Parvarti whilst they had been at Hogwarts. And after spending six years sharing a dormitory with said duo, Hermione could only imagine the difficulty that imposed. It was far from wise to keep the youngest Weasley waiting for much longer.

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><p>Within minutes, she had appeared outside the Weasley's home with a crack. Her feet had barely grazed the gravel beneath her when the back door was thrown open with an almighty crash and Ginny came rushing out to embrace her in a bone-crushing hug. Hermione could have sworn that her eyes were physically twinkling with mischief as she pulled back to grin at her.<p>

"No Harry. No Ron. No excuses." She declared proudly, grabbing Hermione's hand and dragging her over the threshold and into the living room. "I want detail. And Merlin knows there _has_ to be plenty of it."

"Oh Ginny, I don't know what you want me to say." Hermione groaned as she fell back onto the sofa. "We've been over this so many times already. I've told you everything there is to tell."

"You're a terrible liar."

"I am not."

"So, you _are_ lying about something?"

"What? No!" Hermione exclaimed, trying desperately to beat back the blush that she could feel rising upon her cheeks. "You're just twisting my words. Stop it."

"You're blushing like a banshee on heat!" Ginny cried exasperatedly. "Now spill."

"I-"

"Merlin, you're sleeping with him, aren't you?" Ginny gasped, her grin managing to stretch a further inch or too across her face.

"_No, I bloody well am not_!" Hermione choked out. "What on _earth_ would make you even consider the idea? Ginny, this is Malfoy! _Draco Malfoy_. He hates me and I hate him and- look, it would just never happen, okay? Not in a million years. Merlin help me, how could you _think_ such a thing?"

"Oh, but it would be amazing! We'd finally have something to talk about. _And_ you've always been a fan of the whole idea of inter-house unity. It would be perfect." She gushed.

"Gin, I hardly think me sleeping with _Draco Malfoy_, of all people, would be my – or anyone else's with an ounce of sanity for that matter – idea of perfect. And inter-house unity hardly matters to me any more. Of course, it would be wonderful if Hogwarts students could pull together after the war. But we've left school now, so it's completely irrelevant to Malfoy and I."

"Oh, so there's a Malfoy and I?"

"For Merlin's sake, Ginny!"

"Well, there must be _someone_ you like." She sighed. "Hermione, you're eighteen! How can you have an almost non-existent sex drive at eighteen years of age?"

"Are we really going to do this?" Hermione whined.

"Do what?"

"The girl talk."

"Yes."

"And you're absolutely positive that there is no way out of this?"

"Nope. Look, Hermione, you're a girl. Malfoy is a boy – well, man now, I suppose. And it doesn't take a genius to conclude that he is, in fact, a rather attractive man. You live together. He doesn't see anybody else – including girls – from the Wizarding world, you're single, he's single. I mean, why not?"

"I'm not even going to bother providing that remark with a response."

"_Come on_, Hermione. Humour me."

"He's not actually that attractive. Not when you really look at him. His face is unnaturally angular and he's so pale that he looks anaemic."

"_So_..." Ginny had that glint in her eye again and Hermione instinctively recoiled from her gaze. She had an inkling over what was coming next and it wasn't good. "You've been _really looking_ at him, have you?"

"Oh, for heaven's-"

"You know, I meant it when I said about seeing him in a towel when he comes out of the shower."

"Yes, I know. However hard I may try to forget, I can't."

"Have you?"

"What?"

"Seen him in a towel?"

"No, I haven't! And I think Malfoy has enough common sense to _not_ strut around the house half naked whilst I'm there. I don't think he especially entertains the idea of me seeing him out of his garments, surprisingly enough."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm muggleborn."

"He's still absorbed by all of that blood status mania? Even after the war?"

"Of course he is." Hermione explained. "It's going to take more than a war to cancel out a life time of beliefs. They've been drummed into him ever since he can remember. Just think, if Voldemort _had_ won the war, you wouldn't begin to hate muggleborns simply because it was deemed acceptable, would you?"

"No, because it's a stupid belief to hold anyhow."

"Well, Malfoy doesn't see it that way. It's all he knows, all he's _ever_ known. It's going to take a lot of time to change his mind – if it changes at all."

"Why are you defending him?"

"Because I know him better now. Maybe I understand him better too. I don't know..."

"You said you hated him."

"I-I don't hate him, per se." She stammered. "I don't particularly like him, but I don't _hate _him. I don't know, Gin. I don't think he'd be so bad if he just opened up and let people in. I think he's scared, mostly. He just needs a bit of encouragement."

"To what?"

"To see the light, I suppose." Hermione smiled sadly. "It must be hard, don't you think? To spend your whole life, your childhood, being taught to hate."

"You're softening up to him."

"No... I'm not, I-" She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, nibbling in a nervous gesture. "And what if I am? Is that such a bad thing?"

"It depends on him, I guess. I mean, is he softening to you as much as you to him? You can't afford to let your guard down if he's not willing to do the same, Hermione. He might not be all bad, but he's still a Malfoy, he's still a Slytherin and, willing or not, he was still a Death Eater."

"He was never willing."

"Are you sure about that?"

"No." She let out a humourless laugh. "I _believe_ that."

"Just be careful."

"You were telling me to _sleep_ with him five minutes ago."

"I never told you to trust him."

"I never said I did."

Hermione had never seen such a serious side to Ginny before. It was somewhat unsettling. What Ginny was saying made sense. It made a lot more sense than what she, herself, was saying, what she was thinking. _Was_ she beginning to trust Malfoy? No, she couldn't be. She never would. It was impossible and, more to the point, dangerous. She couldn't afford to make herself vulnerable, especially to _him_.

And, so what if she didn't hate him? That simple fact didn't mean that she had to _trust _him? She didn't hate the boy who worked at the corner shop that she used to visit every Saturday morning when she was sent out by her mother to buy milk. That didn't mean that she would trust him. She hardly knew him. And yet, she still spoke to him, they still said hello and managed to pass small talk without endangering themselves. Distrust and hatred were two completely different terms. Hermione just had to be sure of which was which. She had to sort out her priorities.

They stayed like this for longer than Hermione thought was necessary. Her head was beginning to ache from the never-ending interrogation. It appeared as though Ginny was about to say something else, when a giggle broke through the silence, followed by the slam of the back door hitting the wall. Both girls whipped their heads around to be greeted with Ron and...

"_You_ have a _girlfriend_?" Ginny cried.

Well, so much for subtlety.

"Um, sorry, I- I didn't know you'd be here." Ron stuttered, his face quickly beginning to match the shade of red covering his head. "This- this is Eva. She's a co-worker. From work, you know?"

"Really?" Ginny asked, sarcasm lacing her tone. Ron didn't seem to notice.

"Yeah. We, er, we met a few weeks ago and-"

"Hello Ronald." Hermione cut short his painful speech. Apparently, he had been blissfully unaware of her presence until she had finally spoken up.

"Merlin, 'Mione." He choked. "I didn't- I didn't know you were here! Ginny, um- I-"

"It's fine, Ron." Hermione assured him. "I need to leave now, anyway. It's my turn to cook and I don't think a second serving of beans on toast would settle so well with my, er... house-mate."

Reluctantly, she allowed her gaze to trail over to the young girl hiding behind Ron. She hadn't been at Hogwarts with them, of that she was sure, though she seemed to be of their age. She was... pretty. Prettier than Hermione, that much was obvious. She was a red head too. Her and Ron looked good together, she had to admit. It was a positive thing though, wasn't it? This showed that Ron was over her. And she was over Ron, right? So, this was great. Brilliant. She couldn't have wished for anything better. Besides, she – sort of – had Fletch now and, well, this was how it was meant to be. This was right.

"It was nice to meet you, Eva." Hermione welcomed the girl who everyone seemed to have forgotten, forcing this new round of thoughts to the back of her mind until she was out of the shelter of the Burrow and away from Ginny's scrutinizing stare. "I'll see you all soon."

She made a quick dash towards the door, heading out of the range of the Burrow's anti-apparition wards, vanishing with a resounding crack. When she appeared in the foyer of her – _their_ – home, she let out a breath she hadn't even been aware that she had been holding.

What, in Merlin's name, was all _that_ about?

Firstly, she was over Ron. And Ron was over her. They had made that perfectly clear when they had called off their barely there relationship after the Battle of Hogwarts. Secondly, she had – sort of – dated Fletch. She hadn't told Harry or Ron, so she hardly had any right to feel betrayed that Ron had kept Eva from her. And thirdly, she didn't even _like_ Ron! Not in that way, at least. So, she certainly had no right to feel the way that she was feeling after seeing him wrapped up in someone else.

But, what _was_ she feeling? It wasn't jealousy. Heartbreak? Definitely not. Regret? No, it was something else, something she couldn't quite place. But, it was there. And it was going to irk her for the rest of the night, of that she was certain. She took a glance at the clock; half past three. She had time. She could throw a pizza in the oven tonight, Malfoy could either like it or get stuffed. But, right now, she needed what any other self-respecting, overly stressed witch needed; a butterbeer.

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><p>"Granger, tell me you have finished cooking. Another second without food and I'm going to pass out." She heard him call as the sound of the front door being slammed shut echoed through the kitchen. "Fucking Clarice. Is it that difficult to understand that the sandwich box with 'Draco Malfoy' written on top is, surprisingly enough, <em>my<em> lunch? Is it a muggle thing to go around stealing other people's food or is this woman just insufferably thick?"

Hermione didn't answer him. She was used to his usual ranting by now when he arrived home from work. Besides, she didn't think she had it in her to move. She was surprised that she had successfully managed to make the pizza, despite the fact that it was a frozen one, Hawaiian, no less.

Malfoy strolled into the kitchen, he seemed to be following his nose more than anything as he walked straight towards the pizza cooling on the work top. Suddenly, he stepped back, turning to face Hermione's form that was currently slumped awkwardly over the kitchen table.

"Okay, would you care to explain the crater of butterbeer or should I just take the pizza and leave?"

"Second option." Hermione groaned into her folded arms.

"Who died, Granger?"

"Nobody. But, I do appreciate your sympathy."

"You could have sliced it. I hate slicing them." He muttered.

"What?"

"The pizza."

She hadn't even noticed that he had moved back to it. She was still to lift her head from the table.

"You look pathetic."

"Thank you."

"Seriously, what's the matter with you? It's almost painful to watch."

"Is this your way of expressing concern for my sorry well-being?" She asked, brushing a lock of hair from her eyes as she sat up to look at him. He was leaning against the counter, holding what looked to be half a pizza in his hand. "You're supposed to cut the pizza into slices, Malfoy. Not halves."

"I'm a growing boy."

"That excuse expired the moment you reached seventeen. You're just a pig."

"An attractive pig."

"If you say so."

"Your half's going to get cold."

"You can have it. I'm not hungry."

"Passing up the opportunity to eat pizza is wrong, Granger, and you know it. So, I'm going to go with my infallible gut instinct and ask you what Weasley did this time."

"Am I so translucent? Honestly?"

"Afraid so."

"He hasn't done anything, for your information. That's the problem. He's got a girlfriend."

"Ah, trouble in paradise. I see."

"You're such a cocky prat." She snapped, glaring at him from underneath her messy hair. "I don't _like_ Ron. We're not together and we never have been, not really. It's just... I suppose it was nice to believe somebody liked me. Even if I didn't return their feelings."

"How selfish of you, Granger. I'm proud."

"I'm not!" She cried. "Don't you see? I should be happy for Ron. I shouldn't be thinking about myself! That's not what I do. I'm not like _you_."

"Ouch, Granger, that was below the belt."

"Oh, shut up and eat your bloody pizza."

"And let you starve?" He chuckled. "I don't fancy having my sentence extended as the Ministry watches you turn into a sack of bones. Eat, Granger."

"And since when, may I ask, did you begin to care about my health?"

"I don't. I care about mine." He told her, grabbing the plate of pizza and pushing it towards her as he took the seat opposite. "If you don't eat, your immune system will weaken considerably. As a result, you'll be far more prone to illness. And, as I have to be in close proximity with you for hours at a time, that puts me and my health at risk. The thought of catching diseases from you doesn't really appeal to me. So, eat."

"Smooth."

"I do try."

"I'll make us something else later." She commented as she picked the pineapple from a slice of pizza. "I highly doubt that half a pizza will be enough to keep you quiet for the night."

"You always were the most attentive student."

"Is that a compliment?"

"Hardly. But, take it as you like, Granger. It's the best you'll get from me."

"I'm aware."

"Do me a favour?"

"What?" Hermione asked, immediately cautious. Those words coming from Draco Malfoy's lips were never a good combination.

"Get the fuck over Weasel-bee."

"What?"

"You heard me." He replied. "Get the fuck over him. He doesn't want you and you don't want him. I don't need to listen to you crying your sorry arse to sleep every night for a week. I have better things to do. Not to mention wallowing in self pity is highly undignified and I refuse to live with a wallowing witch."

"I'm a wallowing witch?"

"Yes, you are. Man up, Granger. You're not the one stuck here."

"I suppose." She sighed. Hermione took a bottle of butterbeer from the crate she had brought home and threw it to him. Of course, he caught it. For the first time, she wondered if he had gotten onto the Slytherin quidditch team in second year through more than his father's bribes. "Drink up, Malfoy. I won't be bringing this stuff home often, so make the most of it. They say it's the taste of magic."

"Merlin knows I need that." He groaned.

"Do you miss it?" She asked, watching his face carefully for his response.

"Not really. I'm _used_ to it. Always have been. I wouldn't say I miss it... I just don't feel right without it. It's like losing a limb." He explained. "You're a muggleborn. You wouldn't understand. You didn't grow up with magic."

It wasn't an insult. He had called her muggleborn, which was a first. It had always been 'mudblood' in the past. And she supposed he had a point. Maybe she couldn't understand. She hadn't known about magic until she was eleven, and even then she only used it when she was at Hogwarts. She was used to being without it, she could cope. But, Malfoy had been surrounded by it from the very beginning. And, for what was probably the first time in his life, he was completely without it. It must have been strange.

"Can you make beans on toast later on?"

"I made that on Monday. You said you hated it. You complained about it for _three hours_."

"I changed my mind. It was actually rather good."

"I hate you so much." She laughed exasperatedly.

All she received in reply was his signature smirk as he looked up at her from over his halved pizza. "Touché."


	13. Annihilation

**It's been less than a week since I last updated. I told you I'd get better. Not to mention that this is my longest chapter so far.**

****I have a snippet of Draco's POV in this chapter. What do you think? It felt so strange to write and I'm really not sure about how I portrayed him. Anyhow, I hope you enjoy it.****

**Thank you for all the response to my story. I appreciate it so much and I do take your comments into account whilst I'm writing.**

**I'll update as soon as I can. Unfortunately, I'm back at college on Monday. I've been on half term all week, hence the quick update. So, we'll see how things go.**

**I uploaded this chapter again as it wasn't showing up. Thanks to Kolbka for letting me know. :)**

**As always, I own nothing but the plot.**

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><p>17th June 1998<p>

"Granger."

Hermione sighed deeply as she placed the bread knife precariously onto the work top. It was becoming rather difficult to suppress the urge to throw it at his head. He was there again, leaning casually against the door frame with that prevalent scowl etched upon his features. Bothering her. He had been doing so all morning and was just about getting on her last nerve.

"What?"

"I'm hungry."

"And what exactly, may I ask, do you expect me to do about that?"

"You're making sandwiches." Malfoy drawled, lowering his gaze as if addressing a small child as he continued to watch her expectantly. "Isn't it obvious?"

"There's a word, Malfoy. And however unfamiliar with it you may be, I'd appreciate it if you would slip it into your demands every so often."

"I won't say it."

"For Merlin's sake! It's just a word!" Hermione huffed, arms folded across her chest and glare fixed upon his face in the most petulant manner she could muster.

"Exactly my point, Granger." He smirked, turning back to head into the living room. "And I like my cheese grated, not sliced!" He called over his shoulder.

"Sod off, Malfoy!"

It was official. He was a bona fide, irritatingly persistent, nuisance. He was slowly driving her up the wall. Hermione wasn't sure just how much more she could take whilst simultaneously keeping her sanity intact. The sole reason for her being in the kitchen in the first place had been to get away from his monotonous ranting. She was almost certain that he had been pestering her on purpose. He must have been aware of just how much she had been looking forward to finishing her book this weekend.

_Oh, she would make his bloody sandwich_, she thought, violently slamming down another two slices of bread. And if, after that, he still refused to leave the house, she would hex his arse into next week; consequences be damned. She had continuously tried to coax him outside for the better part of her Saturday and, each time, failed miserably. After having lunch with the Weasley's, she had come home to find him tearing apart their defenceless, little library in an attempt to stumble across something that would keep him entertained for longer than ten minutes at a time. Naturally, that had been the last straw.

Hermione knew what was the matter with him; he was bored. He was prohibited from seeing his friends. He was prohibited from visiting Diagon Alley. He was prohibited from playing quidditch. He wasn't allowed to do any of the things that he would usually do and it was obviously driving him mad. So, it was only to be expected that he would find himself stuck inside the house with her on the weekends, clawing at the walls as he unknowingly drove _her_ to the point of madness with him.

However, that didn't lessen the distress that he had caused her these past two days. She thanked all the deities listening for her seemingly unyielding patience and endless stamina. It was unlikely that anybody else in her department would have been able to deal with his vexing behaviour on a daily basis. Maybe Shacklebolt had assigned Malfoy to her for a reason after all. Of course, that thought failed to make her current predicament any easier.

She thrust the plate of sandwiches under his nose, reluctantly beating down the urge to throw them in his smarmy face.

"Can't you eat in the kitchen?" She pleaded, watching in fabricated horror as he picked a sandwich from the plate, several crumbs dropping onto the leather sofa beneath him.

"Why?"

"Because you and I both know that it will be _me_ who ends up cleaning up the mess you make. Honestly, you need a bib or a towel or_ something_. You eat like a child."

"As grateful as I am for your comments, Granger, I'll have you know that I was educated in proper, felicitous dinner etiquette before I could acknowledge my own name."

"Do you dribble in your sleep too?" Hermione cooed, mouth forming into a smirk that could rival his.

"Fuck off, Granger."

Hermione simply glared at him in response, heading back into the kitchen to eat her own sandwich. She had barely seated herself at the table when a sound of utter revulsion made its way into ear shot, shortly followed by Malfoy strolling into the room holding his plate at arms length, an expression of absolute repugnance marring his features. She instinctively clenched her jaw in a desperate attempt to ebb away the temptation to scream.

"_What_, in Merlin's name, is wrong with you _now_?"

"What's wrong with me?" He spat. "There are fucking _tomatoes_ on this, Granger. That's what's fucking wrong with me."

"Are you being serious?" She laughed once, the kind of laugh that held no humour and was usually only used to reprimand the likes of Ron and Harry when they did something ridiculously out of order. "You are _so _ungrateful! Just pick them off if you don't like them, it really isn't difficult!"

"You know I don't like tomatoes. Why did you put them on when you know I don't like them? I thought you were supposed to be the brightest witch of our age."

"Do you know how pathetic you sound? I am not a house-elf. Merlin, you're a grown man! Stop whining like a neglected howler and eat the bloody thing."

He didn't reply. Simply glowered at her and dropped the food into the bin.

"Maturity never was your forte, was it Malfoy?"

"It's not my fault you can't make a decent sandwich. You're so fucking useless."

"Being bored does _not_ give you the right to take it out on me!" Hermione seethed. It was getting more and more difficult by the minute to refrain from hurting him. "Do something if it bothers you so much! Read a book or watch television-"

"I'm not touching that piece of shit. I have enough muggle crap to deal with at work-"

"I don't care, Malfoy!" Hermione cried, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "Do you not understand? I don't care! You should have thought about all of this before you took the Dark Mark, then maybe neither of us would be stuck in this situation!"

It was a low blow and she knew it. As soon as the words passed her lips, she futilely willed them back into her head to be left unheard. It was a rare occurrence that Hermione Granger let her emotions get the best of her. She had spoken without thinking and she regretted it almost immediately.

"You have _no_ fucking idea!" Malfoy growled, slamming his fist down onto the work top for emphasis. A sharp bang resounded throughout the kitchen and Hermione flinched involuntary as he moved his seething gaze from his hand to her face. "You should really stop talking about things that you don't understand; it's bad for you. And I really don't fucking care how many books you've read on the matter, because I can assure you it is _not_ the same!"

There was a heavy silence and Hermione was growing uncomfortable. It didn't seem as though he was going to look away any time soon. She had expected him to take it further, yet he appeared to be biting his tongue. She sighed deeply, dropping her gaze to her clasped hands that were currently resting upon the table.

"I'm sorry-"

"Save it, Granger."

"No, really, I was out of order, I shouldn't have said-"

"I said leave it!" He barked, stepping towards her so quickly that she barely had time to register the move. She instinctively recoiled at his proximity. She had far from forgotten what had happened in their previous heated encounters and did not wish to repeat the experience. But... he didn't touch her. He seemed to be watching her, unmoving, grey eyes penetrating her very being. Hermione had never felt so exposed.

"Draco..."

"I'm going out."

He ripped his gaze away from her own and spun on his heel. Hermione waited until the slam of the front door echoed through the house before she finally allowed herself to relax. She had stepped over the line this time and she knew it. This time it was all her.

Well, maybe not _all_ her. After all, he _had_ been irritating her persistently for the past twenty-four hours. It was inevitable that she would snap at some point. Maybe just not to the extent that she had done...

* * *

><p>The pub was insanely busy, filled to the brim with rowdy, middle-aged men, all wearing matching attire. The entire congregation was clad in either red and white or yellow and green. Personally, Draco thought them absolutely ridiculous. They all appeared to be ogling the muggle contraption hung upon the wall behind the bar and he had to engage in quite a few physical shoves to get within ear shot of the barmaid.<p>

"Whiskey." He ordered. The barmaid opened her mouth to speak and Draco knew she was about to list the array of brands that the pub had to offer. He abruptly stopped her, holding up his hand in impatience. He didn't have time for this. "Any. I don't care." The woman didn't reply. In fact, she looked rather pissed off with him as she threw the glass his way.

Fucking muggles. And fucking _Granger_! She was the reason he was stuck here. Who the hell did she think she was? Never, in his eighteen years, had Draco known anybody who could make his blood boil as hot as she could. It seemed she had yet to master the art of subtlety. He had never known anyone to make such blunt comments about his life. At least, not to his face.

If it had been anybody else, he would have admired her boldness, respected it even. But, as it were, this was Granger. And respect was not something that he was particularly comfortable with showing in her presence.

He wanted his wand. Damn it, he fucking_ needed_ it. Every instinct in his body was screaming for him to march back into that house and curse the stupid bint to hell and back. He didn't know what infuriated him more; the mudblood herself or his inability to maim her.

Although, it hadn't been like this for a while. He had almost become accustomed to her presence these past couple of weeks. And her strange, unexpected and, at first, unwelcome act of kindness on his birthday had shocked him thoroughly. The fact that she had risked her job was enough to make him wary of the muggleborn. Granger hated him, she loved work. It didn't make sense for her to be putting _him_ first. It went against everything he knew about them. They were _enemies_ for Merlin's sake.

He knew she was selfless. Nauseatingly so. It was in her nature to think of others before herself. It was disgusting and he had resented her for this trait – albeit amongst other things – throughout their days at Hogwarts. However, past experience had alerted him to the certainty that he was the exception to this characteristic. And, up until _that _day, he had never planned to be anything less.

Fuck. _Why_ hadn't he put her in her place? She had humiliated him with her forwardness and her failure to keep her mouth shut. She knew better than to bring the past up, especially where he was concerned. It seemed Granger had forgotten who her superiors were and, as a Malfoy, it was his duty to set her straight. So, why hadn't he? He'd simply stood there, abusing kitchen surfaces and staring at her like a fucking idiot. His ego was taking a severe beating and he was doing nothing to help the situation. Maybe he was going soft, but the notion itself was utterly laughable.

He was still a Malfoy. He still had self control.

Though, it was no lie. Granger's company had become significantly less troublesome to him than it had been at the beginning of this ungodly sentence. What Draco couldn't understand was _why. _She hadn't changed. She was still the same stuck up, know-it-all Mudblood that she had been throughout their Hogwarts days. So, maybe it _was_ him. Fucking hell, maybe the muggles were finally getting to him. All of these thoughts and fucking _feelings_ were worse than a disease. He'd gladly choose Spattergroit any day.

No, he couldn't afford to like her. He couldn't risk it. So long as he held the name Malfoy, he had certain unspoken responsibilities resting upon his shoulders. And with his father in Azkaban, it was up to him to look after mother and the Manor, just as soon as this pissing sentence ended. He didn't have time to deal with the trivial issues of friendship. Specifically, a Mudblood's friendship. Besides, such company would create more problems than it was worth. Namely, the twat twins that accompanied Granger's every breath.

He'd just have to beat down these thoughts, ignore the fuck out of them until he had forgotten their existence completely. Five more months and he'd never have to lay eyes on the know-it-all ever again.

However, thoughts and feelings became the least of his problems as a loud roar erupted from the crowd around him. Groaning internally, he put his hands to his ears, gesturing to the barmaid for another whiskey as the incessant noise finally began to die down. It was Sunday for Merlin's sake. Why couldn't they all just piss off home and leave him and his whiskey to wallow in self pity peacefully? He had always known that muggles were a bunch of mindless dolts, but being surrounded by them on a day to day basis had completely exceeded his suspicions.

"Can't you tell them to shut up?" He asked the barmaid, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to cool himself.

"Sorry mate. The game comes first, I'm afraid." She shrugged.

"The game?"

"Football!" She cried, gesturing to the screen above her. "Where've you been living?"

He grunted in response, watching as she turned away to serve one of the muggle men.

"Far away." He muttered under his breath, giving a humourlessly chuckle before dragging his attention back to the shot of whiskey he'd been nursing before he'd been so rudely distracted.

Draco wasn't thick. He could conclude that this football thing was some sort of sport. Yes, definitely a sport if the fight between the two goons being thrown out by another bartender were anything to go by. The muggles on the screen were wearing the same as the muggles in the pub and seemed to be repeatedly running up and down a field. He honestly couldn't see the appeal. He'd get Granger to explain later on. After his fury had finally subsided, of course.

* * *

><p>Hermione had finally managed to finish the book she'd started the week before. It had never taken her so long to read a simple novel. Malfoy's residence was certainly taking its toll on her. She was glad that he'd eventually left the house; although she wasn't so happy about the terms on which they'd parted. She would have to make it up to him. The last thing she wanted was for him to go back into his shell. She'd only just convinced him to be civil to her. Merlin help her, she would never forgive herself if she'd messed it all up again.<p>

She was lying on the sofa, listening to the radio in an attempt to silence her thoughts, when she heard the door click shut.

"Granger." Malfoy nodded, leaning against the door frame.

"Malfoy." She smiled, sitting up to give him room to sit. He didn't move. "Have you calmed down?"

"Have you?"

"Yes." She murmured, swallowing down her nerves. Why on earth was she nervous? It was only Malfoy. She bit her lip, turning her next words over in her head before she let them out into the open where she wouldn't be able to get them back. "Look, I'm sorry about what I said before. I was angry and I wasn't thinking. I suppose I let my mouth get carried away with what I was feeling and... well, it was irrelevant and completely uncalled for and I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

"I know it won't." The look he gave her worried her immensely. She wasn't sure whether that was supposed to have been a threat or not. He looked... dark. It was unnerving. He hadn't looked like this since she had met him in Shacklebolt's office over a month ago. And then it was gone, disappearing as if she had never spoken a word, and he looked down at her, grinning. "Forget it, Granger."

"R-really?"

He shrugged it off and fell onto the sofa beside her. It was only then that her senses were bombarded with the strong scent emanating from his entire being.

"Have you been _drinking_?" She gasped.

"A bit." He smirked. "Why? Does it bother you? Don't tell me you're teetotal. You could join a convent at the rate you're going."

"I'm not a bloody nun!" She huffed, wrinkling her nose at him. "And I _do_ drink. Just not in the middle of the day. On a Sunday, no less. Merlin, where have you _been_? You smell like the Leaky Cauldron. It's awfully unbecoming."

"Fuck off, Granger, it's not that bad! I only had three!" Malfoy frowned. "It was probably all of them bloody drunken muggles. You could have warned me that they come in flocks. I don't know how they can stand being so cramped together like that. It's horrific."

"Is there a match on?" She asked, perking up at the mention of football. It had been years since Hermione had seen a game. She had completely abandoned the sport after she started Hogwarts.

"Match?"

"A football match."

"Oh. Yeah, must have been. The woman behind the bar said something about that." He explained. "What is it? Is it like quidditch?"

"No." Hermione laughed, shaking her head. "It's definitely not like quidditch. It's a muggle sport. There's notably less flying."

"So, what is it?"

"Well, I don't really know much about it. I used to play in the garden with my dad when I was younger, but I never really took the it seriously. There are lots of rules and- oh, Harry might know!"

"I'm obviously not going to go and ask pissing Potter, am I?"

"Can you please refrain from using such vulgarity to insult my friends?"

"No." He snorted at the mere suggestion of it and Hermione rolled her eyes in defeat. "So, is there a snitch or something?"

"No, just one ball; the football. It's nothing special. It's usually made from leather and the players have to kick it into the other teams net – the goal – to score points. Like the quaffle has to go through the hoops in quidditch, see. And the players are strictly limited. They have to kick the ball. They can't throw it or touch it with their hands, that's against the rules. It's a very popular game. I'm surprised you've never heard of it, even in the Wizarding world."

"I stopped listening at leather, Granger."

She sighed, thinking of a way to explain it to him. She'd never really read up on football. The games she'd played with her dad when she was a child were simple. After all, there was only ever the two of them, a fence for a goal and a fifteen foot square garden to play in. It wasn't the most strategic of activities.

"I can show you!" Hermione beamed suddenly, breaking the silence. "I mean, I can try. I'll admit, I'm not the best football player in the world and it really isn't much fun with just two players, but I know the basics. I have a football up in my room. It was my dad's from when he was younger. He gave it to me on my sixteenth birthday, so it's kind of a turned into a family heirloom. We used to play with it all the time before I discovered that I was a witch. You and I could have a game in the back garden!"

"As touching as that heartfelt story may be, Granger, and however hard my heart may bleed for you, I don't particularly want to play with the fucking thing."

"Oh, _please? _It's a chance to finally use the garden! I've been dying to do something with it ever since we moved in here!" Hermione gushed, jumping up off the sofa in anticipation. "Think of it as my way of making it up to you. An apology."

"It's a shit apology."

"Come on! I_ know _you're bored. You must be craving to do something other than map out the cracks in your bedroom ceiling, surely."

"It's yet to tire."

"Malfoy..." She warned.

"Muggle sport is hardly what I have in mind as a form of entertainment."

"So... is that a yes?"

"No, it bloody isn't." He snapped. "I don't want to kick a ball around a shitty patch of grass, Granger. Have some self-respect."

"Oh, _come on_, Malfoy. Live a little." She cried out in desperation, pursing her lips in thought before a grin slowly stretched out across her features. She took a breath, uttering the words that she was certain would torment him until he caved in. "I dare you."

"Piss off." He growled. His expression was guarded and he looked just about ready to strangle her, but she knew she had him. If there was one thing that Malfoy couldn't resist, it was a challenge. And when propositioned by his nemesis, no less, his reaction was inevitable.

"I'll go and get the football." She laughed, practically running up the stairs, successfully ignoring the frowning blond left in her wake.

It wasn't until Malfoy's tailored, leather shoe came into contact with the football for the nth time that she began to regret her decision to tutor him. After much encouragement, she had succeeded in dragging him out into the garden. It was smaller than the one she has come to know at her childhood home, but it was big enough for the two of them to play in. And highly secluded. Which was a positive thing, she supposed, because if he broke that fence, she would not be responsible for her magic.

"Which hand do you write with?" She asked suddenly.

"What?"

"Are you right-handed or left?"

"Right. Why?"

"Because you're kicking the ball with your left foot! No wonder it won't go in the direction you want it to go in. Kick it with your right foot. And use the inside of your foot! Not your toes."

"Does it really matter-"

"Yes. Now do it."

"Don't tell me what to fucking do-"

"Just kick the bloody ball, Malfoy!"

She braced herself as he kicked out at the victimized commodity that used to be her father's football. It had taken a harsh beating in the past half an hour and she felt for the poor item. She heard a low thud as the heel of his foot made contact with the ball and a resounding crack as it crashed into the makeshift goal of plant pots and an old sweeping broom behind her.

"You did it..." She gasped. "Eleven attempts later. Draco, you did it!"

"You sound surprised." He smirked.

"Of course I'm surprised. You wouldn't even go near the thing twenty minutes ago. If you'd just used your right foot to begin with..."

"Stop wounding my ego, Granger." Came his sarcastic drawl, though Hermione didn't miss the hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "Let's go again."

"You're so sure of yourself, aren't you?"

"Oh, definitely." He grinned, holding his hands up in a cocky gesture that didn't fail to make her laugh. "I'm clearly a natural at this football lark."

"It must come from all of those medal-worthy quidditch skills that helped you beat the Gryffindor team those countless times at Hogwarts. Remind me again, how many times did you catch the snitch before Harry?"

"Chortle." He muttered, holding out his arms for her to throw the ball and setting it at his feet. "You're a riot, Granger. I don't know why we never hung around together at school."

"That's it? No pedestrian insult? Degrading remark? I'm disappointed. You're losing your touch. You can't work on wit alone, surely."

"I wouldn't waste my breath." He chuckled, aiming the ball just behind her shoulder. Hermione nodded appreciatively.

"You seem to finally have the hang of it." She smiled. "Can't I have a turn? Acting as goal keeper is becoming tiresome."

"One more." He insisted. "I'm going to do a run up. I'll put a hole through that fence if it's the last thing I do."

"Like a big, strong man? Go ahead. But we'll be replacing the panel with your hard earned wage."

"You think I'm joking, don't you?"

"You wouldn't dare-"

Hermione's disbelief was cut short as she heard his foot smack against the ball once more and a searing pain made its way up the length of her cheekbone. She could just about make out Malfoy's muffled expletives as she hit the ground, clutching a hand to her face and wincing as it came into contact with a warm, sticky substance that she had become all too familiar with over the course of the past year. She cringed as she looked down at her hand. Yes, she was certainly bleeding.

"Shit!" She looked up to find Malfoy's face inches from her own. In her shocked state, she barely registered that this was the first time she hadn't recoiled from his touch. He prodded the wound gently and she winced in response, letting out a sharp hiss of pain. "Fuck. Shit, sorry. I didn't mean to- are you okay? Fucking hell, Granger, you're bleeding."

She had heard that. Everything was coming back into focus and it didn't take long for his comment to sink in. She attempted to glare at him, though she simply ended up grimacing from the agony it caused.

"Stop fussing. I won't infect you." She snapped.

"I didn't mean it like that." Hermione was surprised to find that he almost sounded hurt. "Get inside."

"What?"

"Your injury needs to be tended to before it scars. You look like you've been hit with a stinging jinx."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome." He laughed. She didn't hesitate to take his hand as he pulled her from the ground, guiding her in through the back door and into the kitchen. She hadn't noticed at first, blinded by pain as she was, but he had brought the ball back inside with them and he placed it on the kitchen table before gesturing to the work top by the sink. She raised an eyebrow questioningly, doing her best to ignore the twinge in her cheek.

"Sit." He ordered.

Hermione didn't bother to argue with him as she jumped up onto the marble surface. The burn in her cheek was getting hard to ignore and she could feel the swelling becoming more prominent as the seconds ticked by. The prospect of having to explain how she came to look like a troll was far from appealing. What would Harry and Ron say if she told them that she'd been playing _football, _with Malfoy of all people? More to the point, what would _Ginny_ say?

All thoughts of possible explanations and little white lies were quickly shook from her brain as she felt something icy cold come into contact with her throbbing face. She instinctively cringed away from the offending material, only to find it was Malfoy. He was holding a wet cloth in his hand. Had the ball hit her head too? Surely she was imagining this.

"Ow!" She cried as he brought the cloth back down to the cut. No, she was definitely _not_ imagining this. This was too painful to be a product of her imagination. It bloody hurt!

"Sorry." He murmured.

"You don't have to do this." She assured him. "I still have my wand. I can fix this."

She shifted to pull said wand out from the inside of her jacket, but his fingers coiled themselves around her wrist, ceasing the action. She was surprised at how gentle his hold was. She felt as if she was five years old again, perched on the edge of the kitchen work top with her wounded face. She half expected her mother to walk into the room carrying a box of multi-coloured plasters, ready to kiss the lesion better. But, this certainly wasn't her mother. This was Malfoy.

"Don't be stupid." He grimaced. "You know as well as I do that it's far too risky to perform magic on yourself. Especially healing charms. Your head certainly doesn't need inflating any more."

"Same goes for your ego." She chided.

"Funny." He smirked, momentarily pausing his actions as she flinched once more. "You'll be happy to hear that it's not so bad now that I've cleaned up the blood. I don't think it's broken, though you'll certainly have a bruise. Sorry about that."

He seemed absolutely engrossed in the task at hand. Hermione found herself utterly compelled to watch the pure look of concentration etched across his features. She contemplated him as his eyes squinted in concentration and his brow furrowed, creating a small crease in the skin just above his nose. It was in that moment that she noticed the infinitesimal bump on the otherwise perfect structure. She never even began to consider the motion before she reached out to touch the offending blemish, surprised at her own forwardness and even more surprised when he failed to pull away from her caress.

"Did I break it?"She wondered aloud. He knew straightaway what she was referring to, but she elaborated nevertheless. "In third year, when I hit you."

"No." He murmured. He was obviously withholding information, he wouldn't meet her gaze, and she gestured for him to continue the best she could in her current position. "You fractured it." He admitted reluctantly. "Twice."

Hermione couldn't hold back the giggle that slipped through her lips. "I'm not sorry." She confessed, letting her hand drop back down to her side. "You deserved it at the time. What you did to Hagrid was terrible. Though, I suppose this makes us even."

"I'm not a monster, Granger." He frowned, pulling back to look at her. "I was raised with _some_ degree of courtesy. Amongst other controversial and less conventional qualities, true. But, I would never intentionally hurt you to get _even_."

"I'm sorry." She whispered, chewing her lip. It was becoming an irritatingly tenacious habit since living with _him_. "I didn't mean to offend you. It's just, _well_, you've never been the most benevolent of souls to me in the past."

"And you have?"

"What?"

"I don't recall you being particularly cordial to _me_ in our past encounters. If I remember rightly, you gave as good as you got. Even more so when you were flanked by the scapegoat duo."

"Yes, but you always started it." She argued, crossing her arms in defiance and earning a throaty chuckle in response.

"And you have the daring nerve to insult my maturity?" He inquired. "Shocking, Granger, truly shocking."

She continued to watch him carefully as he leaned over to grab a small, skin-coloured plaster from the first aid kit that she had unsuccessfully noticed him grab. It was frightfully unlike her to be so inattentive to her surroundings. She continued scrutinized his every move in a completely new light in effect to what he had said. It was true, she supposed. She _had_ given as good as she had got during their former quarrels and fights.

Well, she was hardly going to allow him to get one over on her, so to speak. It was in her nature to fight back. She had been sorted into Gryffindor for a reason.

By now, the pain in her cheek had lessened considerably, and he gently applied the plaster to the injury. He took a small step back to admire his work and she followed the movement, assuming that the flash of guilt that entered his gaze wasn't meant for her to see. He masked it as quickly and suddenly as it had appeared and she was left wondering as to whether it had been there at all. Maybe she had imagined it.

"Thank you." She whispered softly. She was perplexed at his relentless invasion of her personal space. He had finished healing her now and there was no longer any real need for them to be so close to each other. Though, whether he had acknowledged this piece of information or not, he refused to move away.

However, what utterly stupefied her was that she had desire whatsoever to pull away either. Quite the opposite, in fact. Hermione found that she rather liked the lack of space between them. It was insane, maddening, completely irrational, but Merlin forgive her, was she leaning in? The blow that the football had inflicted must surely have been closer to her skull than she had first thought. That, and Malfoy's unusual tender demeanour, had gone to her head. Why else would she have lead herself to believe that he was also inclining himself toward her?

Godric help her, his mouth was mere inches from her own and_ she wasn't pulling away. _His breath ghosted over her parted lips – when had she let that happen? - and she found it to be pleasantly warm. She had expected Malfoy to be, _known_ him to be, cold and intangible, but the man before her was as far from what she had expected as he could possibly be. He was _real_. Very much so as it were.

Oh, Merlin, _why wasn't she pulling away_?

Her lips had barely touched his own when they were interrupted by the sharp, familiar crack of apparition. Hermione jumped away from him like she had been burned, sliding from the work top and edging away from him the moment her feet touched back on the ground. Yet, it was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the tingling sensation his barely-there touch had left on her lips. In the end, it was she who ripped her gaze away from his intensive stare when a second presence made itself known within the room.

"Harry's hurt!" Ron panted, skidding to a halt before her. Hermione suddenly regretted giving him her address. Where would she be right now if she hadn't lowered the wards to allow him and Harry access into her home? And then what he had addressed her with finally sunk into her muddled brain and her heart sunk. Harry was hurt.

"W-what?" She stuttered. Surely she had misheard him. Though he wasn't paying attention to her now. He and Malfoy appeared to have engaged in mirrored, wary stares and she had to physically rip the red head away from their silent feud. "Ron, where is Harry?"

With one last hostile glance in Malfoy's direction, he shakily jumped into his explanation. "Shacklebolt sent us up North again. With Miller and Dane. There were a couple of rogue Death Eaters. We were trying to contain them, but Harry- it-it was a misunderstanding, 'Mione!"

"What are you talking about, Ronald? What happened to Harry?" She was beginning to panic now, her voice an octave or two higher than the norm.

"We'd gotten into a fight before we left. He was distracted and one of them threw a curse at him when his back was turned. None of us saw it coming. He's in St Mungo's right now." He told her, voice quaking. Hermione hadn't seen him so shaken up since the Battle of Hogwarts. "Look, I have to get back to the hospital. I only came to let you know. He needs us."

"I'll be there in five minutes." She assured him, giving a small smile as he nodded and held up his wand to apparate again.

As soon as the proverbial crack resounded through the room, she sprung into action. However, she had barely made it out of the door when she felt a hand grab her upper arm a little more forcefully than she would have deemed appropriate.

"Malfoy, let go. I need to get to Harry. He's hurt."

"I heard." He replied stiffly, his grip failing to loosen. "Granger-"

"I need to go!" She cried frantically, pulling at his grasp, though her efforts were soon found to be futile as his hand tightened and he growled in protest.

"Don't fucking run away from me!"

"I am _not_ running away!" She snapped. "My best friend is lying in a hospital bed and I don't know what the hell is happening! I need to know if he's okay!"

"_I_ need to know what the fuck just happened!" He snarled, his hold tightening substantially as he ground the words out from between gritted teeth.

Hermione ground a sound of pure frustration, tugging at his grip with her free hand. "Mal-Draco... _Please_ let go! You're hurting me! We'll talk about it when I get back, okay? I'll return as soon as I know what's-"

"I don't want to fucking _talk_ about it." He spat. She startled at the stark contrast between this Draco and the Draco she had known mere minutes before. He was letting his temper control him and she knew it. He had been so different just minutes ago and now... _now _she understood why her brain had been so adamant for her to stop herself from taking things any further in the heat of the moment. "Nothing happened. Get it into your fucking head. I don't want you taking this the wrong way, understand? Nothing fucking happened, Granger."

Ah, denial. So, that was the game they were going play. Hermione would happily go for that. She didn't like to pretend, she didn't like to act as if the elephant in the room didn't exist, but she would make an exception this time around. She didn't like this any more than he obviously did. It was wrong. This was Malfoy. She had been carried away with his benignity and the twisted, little bubble which they had formed around themselves. She wouldn't allow it to go any further. She wouldn't allow this to change anything between them.

"Nothing happened." She agreed, at last ripping her arm from his clenched fist and composing herself the best she could. She swallowed the lump in her throat down, cursing herself as she took in an all too shaky breath.

Lifting her wand ready to apparate, Malfoy took a step back and their eyes met one last time; stormy grey clashing with honey brown. He had never reflected the image of that arrogant, twelve year old boy dressed in Slytherin quidditch robes more than he had in that moment, she concluded.

Hermione was astonished to find that the revelation saddened her.


	14. Aftermath

**Well, it's been what? A month now? Life's been busy and I know I said I'd get better at this, but I'm the worst (or best, depending on how you look at it) procrastinator you'll ever meet. I keep saying I'll stop, but I see a pattern emerging here.**

**However, I did get my exam results back. I passed everything (B's in Psychology and General Studies and a C in Philosophy), which I'm really surprised about! AS levels will be the death of me. I honestly thought I'd failed, everybody else seems to have. I suppose I got lucky.**

**Anyway, I'm rambling, and you've waited long enough for this chapter, so go ahead and enjoy. I hope it's okay. :)**

**As always, I own nothing.**

* * *

><p>17th June 1998<p>

Shit.

Shit. Shit. _Shit_.

What the fuck was that? Surely he hadn't almost kissed Granger. Hermione _fucking_ Granger. Mudblood extraordinaire. One third of the twatty trio. What the hell had he been thinking?

He hadn't been thinking at all, that much was evident. Had he learned nothing these past eighteen years? Generations of archaic Malfoy tradition and belief had seemingly failed to stick with him through to adulthood. Salazar help him, his ancestors would be turning in their graves if they could see him now.

Oh, Granger must be loving this. He could only begin to imagine being in her position, could only imagine having this sort of dirt on _her_. She was probably parading through the streets of Diagon Alley this very moment, preaching to the masses of his blasphemous almost-act. And Merlin only knew how slander loved to find its way to the gossip-hungry ears of the wizarding press. It would be unsurprising if his mother was reading about this in tomorrow's issue of Witch Weekly.

Yes, if Granger were anything like him, the majority of Wizarding Britain's magical folk would be informed of his involvement with the infamous muggleborn within the hour.

But, as it were, Granger was nothing akin to Draco Malfoy. Quite the opposite, actually. And that was the thought that he found most bothersome. It had been far from his intentions to lead her on. After all, it _had_ been her who leaned in first. Hadn't it? Of course it had. He would never dream of initiating such activities between them. Merlin, no. It went against everything he had been taught to uphold with the Malfoy title. Such an act would be nothing short of a disgrace to the family name.

But,_ fuck!_ It was all wrong! Everything was so fucking wrong. Nothing had happened. He had barely touched the girl, he had told her so himself. So, why was she still playing on his mind like some irksome insect that he just couldn't seem to swat away? He couldn't allow himself to feel for Granger. It would cause so much more trouble than it could ever be worth. It would undoubtedly cost him his family, his friends, his reputation. And it would most certainly cost him his pride.

A short, humourless laugh escaped his pursed lips at the thought of his battered pride and bruised ego. Fucking hell, Granger had left him. _Him_! She had run away, dropped him like he had scolded her. For Potter, of all people. She had barely had the courtesy to acknowledge him. It was doubtful that she would have spoken to him at all had he not forced her the way he had. Weren't Gryffindors supposed to be all about courage and bravery and shit? Granger was sure as hell doing a lousy job of upholding her house traits.

Yet, had Draco cared about her, he would have found her reaction unnerving. He had never known Granger to be scared, let alone run away. Cowardice wasn't her thing. Even in war, she had persistently clung to Potter's side like an extra limb. Merlin how he had tried, but it was impossible to forget the look on her face as his Aunt had tortured her in the drawing room of his childhood home, the resounding echo of her screams tearing at his ear drums for what, in the moment, had felt like days. The look of defiance and that familiar, stubborn glint in her eye, even through the inhumane acts of suffering inflicted upon her body and mind, had remained intact. No matter how hard he had silently willed her to do so, the stupid bint simply refused to give up.

And he had thought her foolish. And he had _always_ thought her mental. The unnecessary danger she had put herself in throughout the past year was maddening. The girl was a masochist. Draco had never particularly admired martyrs. From his perspective throughout the war, it had seemed unlikely that the light side would pull through and he had never truly believed that they could win. Haunting, unforgettable encounters with Voldemort himself had left him doubtful and, dare he say it, afraid. Repression and coercion had naively lead him to believe that the darkest Wizard of all time had been invincible.

Alas, Draco had been proven wrong. And as much as it pained him to admit it, Potter and his gang of sidekicks had pulled through. Now the war was over, Voldemort was dead, more and more Death Eaters were trialled everyday. And Hermione Granger was running away from him, from a fucking kiss, like a pathetic little schoolgirl. It was infuriating!

Oh Merlin, he was angry. He was fucking livid. He hadn't felt this way since their first night in the house together all them weeks ago. But, she wasn't here for him to take his frustrations out on this time. There was _nobody_ here for him to take his frustrations out on this time. He was going insane! He needed to do something, say something, but their was _nobody here_. He felt the growl, bubbling up from deep in his chest, before he heard it escape his painfully clenched jaw, tight control unravelling before his own eyes. Making his way back into the kitchen, it was purely instinctual for him to lash out at the numerous inanimate objects scattered around the room.

Glass was smashed, chairs thrown, tables knocked over; he didn't care. Merlin, how could he possibly care? It wasn't as if he knew what he was doing. It was all a violent blur, an unexpected outburst of repressed confusion and hatred and anger. And right now, it was what he needed.

He must look fresh out of Mungo's, he deduced, as his back hit the kitchen wall and he began to slide south, clutching fistfuls of his own hair in desperation, sucking in greedy gulps of air in some sorry attempt to get a grip on his emotions. _He didn't care_. Nothing mattered any more. _Fuck_, nothing mattered, and it was driving him fucking insane! He was watching his life turn to shit before his eyes, trapped in this mindless world full of moronic muggles and he _could not get away_. And now Granger was fucking with his head, fucking with his feelings, fucking with _him_.

It was absolutely suffocating.

* * *

><p>18th June 1998<p>

A broken wrist and a mild concussion, the Mediwitches concluded. And after choking back half a bottle of Skele-Gro and a simple headache potion for good measure, Harry Potter had been sat up in bed, pouting and groaning about the mattress springs digging into the skin of his back.

Hermione hadn't been the only one there, as was expected. The majority of the Weasley clan had gathered around Harry's bedside as soon as they had heard the news of his injury. Ginny had been the first to arrive, a look of pure concern and terror etched upon her features. That was until she took in his less than critical state. Which, of course, lead to an hour long rant, threats and sharp slaps to the back of his already bruised skull. Hermione had never seen Ginny Weasley so angry before and it was quite unnerving to see the familiarity of Mrs Weasley in the young girl.

Healer Lane had insisted that Harry stay in overnight to be kept under observation. And, being The-Boy-Who-Lived, he had managed to persuade her to let his friends stay. Given the situation at home, Hermione wasn't about to turn down the offer. She was handling her circumstances with Draco badly and she knew it. She had promised to return as soon as possible, given that Harry was safe and sound. However, away from the haze of Draco's caring and kindness, the scene that had unfolded between them became more and more_ real_. And she didn't like it. She didn't like it at all.

Draco's words still rang in her ears, clear as the moment they had passed his lips. They were on a loop and she could not, for the life of her, seem to silence them.

_ Nothing happened_. _Nothing happened. Nothing happened._

Didn't it? It most certainly didn't feel like nothing. Not to her. Right now, it felt as if her whole world was crumbling around her. She had almost kissed Draco Malfoy! She had _wanted_ to kiss Draco Malfoy. And she was almost positive that he had wanted to kiss _her _too. Maybe not now. Maybe now, to him, it had never happened. But, in that moment, whether either of them liked it or not, he had been a most willing participant and she'd be damned if he was going to pretend otherwise.

Hermione Granger didn't run. Never. No, she was simply delaying the inevitable confrontation that was going to happen between them both as soon as she broke through the wards of their home. Because she knew what Draco was like. She knew _him_. And, as much as it bothered her, she was able to fathom his explosive reaction better than he was himself. He would blame this on her. He would blame this on everything but himself. He would insist that he had played no part in their almost-kiss, he would accuse her and ridicule her and she wasn't ready to deal with him just yet.

She needed time to think.

She needed time to breathe.

And so, by the time she arrived back at the house, the clock was striking four o'clock in the morning and, unsurprisingly, Draco was asleep. It was now reaching six. She was expected to get up for work in an hour and she had yet to find sleep herself. However, her efforts were futile. She had crawled into bed over two hours ago and had been unable to do anything, but stare blankly at the dark ceiling looming over her since.

She threw the covers from herself with an exasperated sigh, replacing them with the bathrobe Lavender Brown had bought her for her birthday in their sixth year. It appeared that she would be heavily relying on caffeine-filled espressos for the best part of her day; the thought of calling into work ill had, of course, failed to cross her mind. Sleep or no sleep, she was still Hermione Granger. She would never unnecessarily miss a day of work.

As she shuffled into the kitchen, the last thing she expected to stumble upon was a figure hunched up in the middle of the kitchen floor. _Malfoy_. And judging by the muffled profanities leaving his mouth as she crashed into him, grasping his shoulders for support lest she fall to the ground with him, he was all too aware of _her_ presence as well.

"What the fuck, Granger?" He snarled, flinching at her bold touch and straightening up quickly, a poor attempt to hide the dustpan and brush clutched in his left hand. "Watch where you put your feet next time."

"Sorry," She muttered, blushing slightly and silently thanking Merlin for the dull light of the kitchen with which dawn had brought upon them. "I just didn't expect you to be crouching on the kitchen floor sweeping up china at six o'clock on a Monday morning. I didn't expect you to be awake at all, actually-"

"I was thirsty." He snapped, shrugging. "I knocked a mug off the work top. It's not a big deal."

It was only then that Hermione took in the rest of the room. Even in the dim light of daybreak, it was difficult to miss the damage that seemed to have been inflicted upon the little kitchen. He had clearly been attempting to hide the wreckage when she had stumbled upon his – somewhat guilty - form. But, chairs were still toppled sideways, the table offset and she was fairly sure that the door was mere moments away from falling off its hinges.

Oh, he was angry alright. Her worries had been confirmed in one sweeping glance of her surroundings and she tried hard to swallow down the lump in her throat. The raw exhaustion hazing her mind was certainly not helping her in her current predicament.

"You've destroyed our kitchen..."

"Now, why the hell would I do that?"

"You tell me." Hermione replied indignantly, arms crossed. "I hope you accomplished whatever it was that you intended to by demolishing our house. I hope it helped. Because I assure you, I won't be clearing this up. Magic or no magic, this is your mess-"

"Shut the fuck up!" He shouted, dustpan and brush thrown aside, discarded and quickly forgotten.

"You're upset." She stated. She was trying desperately to catch his gaze, however he seemed intent on avoiding her own. "Draco, I know-"

"You know _nothing_, Granger! You know absolutely _nothing _about me, or my life, or how I fucking _feel_. Don't ever presume that you do, because I swear, it will only make things worse for you. I'm not Potter or Weasley or one of your prissy Gryffindor buddies. I'm nothing to you and you would do well to remember as such!"

She had expected nothing more from him than the defensive he instinctively put up at such a bold observation of his emotional state. Especially from her. It was certainly no secret that Draco Malfoy liked to be in control. He liked to be in check of his emotions, of_ himself._ But, he was angry and she had battered his ego the moment she had left the night before and he was prone to raging outbursts in this state.

So, she was prepared for whatever he had to throw at her, because she sure as hell wasn't about to back down. Front and foremost, she was still Hermione Granger and _he _had tried to kiss _her, _of this she was sure. But, it was becoming more and more difficult to stay calm in the face of his own fury. And she would be damned if she was going to stand there and be on the receiving end of his childish tantrums and insistent denial.

"Don't patronize me! I know exactly what this is about! I am not stupid, Malfoy-"

"You could have fucking fooled me-"

"-And you can destroy the house, scream and shout at me, pretend it didn't happen, but it did! And you bloody well know it or you wouldn't be doing this!"

"I'm not doing anything-"

"Yes you are!" She cried, an uncontrolled growl of frustration passing her lips before she could stop it. "Merlin, you said so yourself, _nothing happened_! We didn't do anything! And if Ron-"

"Weasley has nothing to do with this!" He snarled, cutting her off before she could finish. Hermione saw red.

"Ron has everything to do with this! Because if he hadn't interrupted us when he did, I don't know-"

"There was nothing to fucking interrupt, Granger! When are you going to get that through that over-sized head of yours?"

"For Godric's sake, Malfoy, we have to talk about this!"

"No!" He barked, fists slamming down onto the crooked kitchen table. "No, we don't! And we're not going to. You're making something out of nothing, Granger. Absolutely nothing! Now, understand; I don't want to talk, I don't want to think about it and I sure as hell don't want you fucking bring this up again."

"You're being utterly ridiculous-"

"Just drop it, Granger! _Why don't you know when to fucking drop it_?" He screamed, inching towards her and grabbing her upper arms, shaking her slightly. An attempt to knock some sort of sense into her, no doubt.

"Because it _matters_-"

"No! It doesn't! And I'm done here-"

"No!" She had been backed up into the wall by this point, gritting her teeth in anguish as she attempted to scream some sense into him. "You can't just bloody walk away from this as if nothing ever happened-"

"_Nothing." _Shove. _"Fucking." _Shove._ "Happened_." Shove. "Don't you get it?" He had stopped shouting now, his jaw clenched and eyes sharp as they pierced her own. And he was quieter now, his voice deep and low, barely above a whisper.

Dangerous.

And she _knew_ that she had pushed him to his limit. She had pushed him as far as she could, as far as he would allow her to. His face was mere inches from her own, his breath warm, heated from their fight, coming out in short gasps and dampening her own overheated skin, blowing away the wisps of hair that had escaped the pony tail she had worn to bed that night, and fallen into her eyes.

She refused to look away from him, her steely glare clashing with his own in a silent battle. "You have some serious growing up to do, Malfoy."

"Just drop it, Granger." He sneered. "Before I do something I'm not entirely sure I will regret."

He let go of her then, moving her body away from him with a blunt force, as if he had only just realised that they had been touching in the first place. She didn't think he had ever fully registered that he had initiated contact between them in the haze of his fury.

Hermione could only stand and watch as, this time, he was the one who walked away.

* * *

><p>She arrived at work an hour before she was scheduled to, despite the sleep deprivation. It was clear to any unfortunate colleagues who crossed paths with Hermione that she was not to be messed with that day. She was exhausted, and no matter how hard she tried, she just could not push down the swell of anger that had risen in her gut. She felt positively livid after the encounter with Malfoy that morning and the overpowering agitation was clouding her thoughts like an unhealthy obsession.<p>

How could he dismiss what had happened between them so easily? It appeared to be extremely simple for him. Malfoy was highly capable of brushing off any emotional attachment, and she had been quick to learn this. And yet, it was all Hermione could think about. If she had been fortunate enough to get any sleep, she could safely bet that she would have _dreamed_ about it. But, it was nothing. It meant nothing. That is what _he_ thought.

Of course, Hermione only had his word. And she was also rapidly beginning to learn that what Draco Malfoy said and did were at two very different ends of the spectrum.

Merlin, legilimency had never seemed so tempting.

However, Malfoy's pride wasn't the only one getting a beating as of late. It pained her to admit it, even to herself, but she supposed that she was partly to blame for his reaction. Running out on him the way she had had been totally unacceptable, and a small part of her had known this at the time. Yet, this small part had been smothered by her desperation to get away from him and the reality of the situation. Coupled with her concern for Harry's well being, Malfoy had never really stood a chance.

But, it was wrong. Yes, she would confess to that. She had handled it poorly, as had he, and maybe she would have made their predicament easier for the both of them had she taken the time to look at it logically. She was a smart girl, so very clever. But, when she let her emotions get a hold of her, Hermione was prone to losing her head.

However, it was absolutely essential that she keep her wits about her when it came to Malfoy. Because this wasn't about him or her or what they did and didn't do. Because primarily, this was still her job. And Shacklebolt was counting on her not to mess it up.

She wasn't sure whether it was due to the fatigue or her busy thoughts, but Hermione's head was pounding. She had confined herself to her office for the best part of her Monday morning in an attempt to isolate herself from the commotion of the Ministry and its workers. It was reaching twelve-thirty now, Hermione's stomach growling angrily resulting in her glancing up at the clock. She had almost comet to expect the knock on her office door and Hermione knew for certain who it would be before he even had the chance to enter the room.

"Have you eaten yet?" Fletch asked, strolling inside and dropping into the chair opposite her own.

"You sound like my mother." She groaned. "And no. Why?"

"You should have left for lunch half an hour ago. Go. Now."

"I'm working through." Hermione explained on a sigh. "I suppose you will have heard about Harry; heaven knows the rest of the Wizarding world has. I didn't get much sleep last night. I was worrying about him, you see. And I would really appreciate it if you could possibly let me go early? That's why I'm working through my lunch-"

"You're brilliant, you know that Hermione?" Fletch interrupted, Hermione watching him cautiously as a small smirk made its way across his features.

"What?"

"You are. You're an absolute genius. But, you can be so thick sometimes."

"What are you talking about?"

"Why didn't you tell me you were ill? You know I would have gotten somebody to cover for you today. It's ridiculous to push yourself like this. You should have stayed at home-"

"I'm not ill. I'm just tired-"

"You're dead on your feet!"

"I'm fine." She insisted, folding her arms over her chest and sitting up straight for effect. The effort itself was almost enough to make her cry. "I needed to get through these files today. I couldn't have stayed home-"

"Just get out, Hermione."

"W-what?"

"You heard. Go home."

"I _can't_, Fletch!"

"I'm your boss. I'm ordering you to leave. I'm ordering you to go home and get some sleep before you do yourself permanent damage."

"I don't think you can get permanent damage from one night of restlessness. Really, I'm fi-"

"Bullshit." Fletch laughed. "_Go. Home_."

"Fletch-"

"Hermione!" He cried frustratedly. "Merlin, I have never met a more stubborn witch in my life. Just go home! You can repay me later. In the form of a date."

"A date?" She asked, eyes wide. "Oh, Fletch, I- I don't know... I mean, we already-"

"I was joking." He assured her, brushing her stuttered response off with a chuckle and a nonchalant wave of his hand.

No, he wasn't joking. Hermione may have been exhausted, but she was not blind. His disappointment was almost tangible and she suddenly had a burst of determination through her grogginess. Why shouldn't she go out with Fletch again? He was good to her. He was decent and nice. And Malfoy was a foul git who was messing with her jumbled mind. Maybe this was what she needed. Maybe this would finally allow her to shake the slimy prat from her thoughts once and for all.

Because, it was nothing.

"Yes."

"What?" Fletch asked, confusion written across his features.

"I said yes, I'll go on a date with you." Hermione replied. "_Just _a date. We'll call it my thank you gift for you being an absolute dream these past few weeks."

"Really?" He grinned.

"Yes, Fletch..." She smiled. "I mean it, you know? You really have been great to me. I don't know what I would have done without you."

"I'm thinking mental breakdown."

"I prefer not to wonder." She laughed, however it was rudely cut off with a yawn. Hermione covered her mouth, blushing. "Sorry. I really am exhausted."

"I'll get Samson to cover for you." Fletch shrugged. "He doesn't do much these days."

"Thank you. Again." She said, walking over to grab the coat hanging from the back of the door. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah, sure. Can you do lunch then? Tomorrow, I mean..."

"I'm sure I can squeeze you into my hectic schedule. I'll come to your office at twelve, yes?"

"Yeah." He beamed, standing up to follow her out. "I'll see you then."

"Bye, Fletch." She uttered with a small wave, watching as he submerged himself into his own office.

Unfortunately for Hermione, her bed was still a distant dream. She had promised Ginny that she would drop by the Burrow after work to see how Harry was doing. Not to mention, she hadn't been very successful in grabbing Hermione for one of their 'chats' for a while. And, as tempting as it was, it was impossible for her to cancel. The red head would undoubtedly murder her bare-handed.

She had planned to make it a quick visit, but the sheer panic at what she had just agreed to (again) hit her hard as she approached the crooked house. Initiating one of Ginny's chats suddenly seemed a whole lot less troublesome in comparison. One thing was for certain; Hermione Granger did not fare well with all-nighters and an empty stomach.

So lost in her own thoughts as she was, Hermione failed to notice the red-headed girl barrelling into her as she crossed the Burrow's threshold. Both girls stumbled upon impact and it took all the strength she had to stop them both from tumbling to the ground.

"Hello to you too." She gasped, prying herself from Ginny's arms.

"Sorry." She grinned sheepishly, brushing herself off. "I just feel as if we haven't spoken in so long! I've missed you."

"It's been five days..."

"Exactly!" Ginny exclaimed.

Hermione laughed softly at Ginny's odd behaviour, following her through into the living room. It was difficult to not be endearing of the girls' affectionate persona. Her company was also much appreciated, especially in crisis situations such as at present. Nobody could dissect a problem as Ginny Weasley could. There wasn't a doubt in Hermione's mind that she would pick it apart like a broken commodity.

"How is Harry? I thought you'd still be at St Mungo's with him."

"Merlin, no." Ginny grimaced. "I could have quite easily killed him myself when I saw him in that hospital. Ron too. The way my bloody idiot of a brother hyped it up, I thought the prat was on his death bed! Honestly, Hermione, a broken wrist! I swear, I was just about ready to break his _neck_, never mind his bloody wrist. I can't believe he had been stupid enough to allow himself to be distracted so easily, especially on assignment. And by Ron, no less! I mean, he's hardly the most engrossing of human beings. I can think of better things to lose your head over-"

"I get the feeling your angry." Hermione interrupted, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she snuggled further into the Weasley's sofa. "It's just a guess. Although, I don't blame you. You know when Ron burst in on me and Malfoy like that, I was almost-"

"Wait, wait, what did you say?" Ginny inquired, a suggestive smirk making its way onto her features. "You and Malfoy? What were you and _Malfoy_ doing? Oh my Godric, Hermione, were you-"

"_No_!" Hermione defended quickly, willing the blush creeping into her cheeks to leave. Immediately. She most certainly did not need Ginny Weasley to find out about what had – or hadn't, depending on how you looked at it – happened. "We were not doing _that_. No. Heavens, no! You have such a perverted mind! You need to stop! Even with Ron, I never-"

"And you need to stop delving into details of what you and my brother did or didn't do. I'd rather not think about it, much less hear it."

"We didn't _do_ anything. That's my point, Gin." Hermione sighed, frustration clear in her voice. "Which brings me to my next topic of conversation."

"Oh, I like the sound of _this_."

"I have a date-"

She was cut off as an almighty squeal was let loose from her friends lips and a pair of arms were thrown around her neck tightly. Her oxygen supply was getting low and she could have sworn she was beginning to see black spots marring her vision.

"This is brilliant, Hermione! Who is he?"

"It's-"

"No, wait! Don't tell me!" Ginny cried, clapping her hands excitedly. "It's Seamus, isn't it? Seamus Finnegan? Oh my gosh, it is! I knew it!"

"Ginny, it's not-"

"I've known it ever since he bought you that pumpkin juice in your fifth year! The chemistry was positively visible, and you always did make an abnormally attractive couple. Because, well, let's face it, Seamus has been in my top ten list since fourth year and you and I both know how-"

"Ginny!" Hermione cried, placing a hand over the girls mouth to silence the continuous stream of giddy hysteria. "Ginny, it's not Seamus Finnegan. Why on earth would I go out with Seamus? I haven't seen him since... Well, since the Battle. Besides, didn't he move back to Ireland with his parents?"

"Long distance relationship." She stated with a shrug, as if the answer was obvious.

"Ginny, you really are-"

"Look, if it's not Seamus, then who is it?"

"Fletch."

"Who?"

"Fletch. Aaron Fletcher. He was in Ravenclaw, but he left when I was in fourth year and you in third. He was a prefect. You know, _my boss_."

"You're going out with your _boss_?"

"We're not going out!" She retaliated. "It's just a date. Well, technically it's our second date, but-"

"_Second?_ When the hell did you go on the first date? Why the hell didn't you tell _me_?" Ginny cried. Hermione wasn't sure if the look she was giving her was mock offence or if she had just succeeded in riling up her already aggravated friend.

"I'm sorry, Gin. I really didn't think it was going to be anything serious. I was never looking for anything committed or concrete, it was just a bit of fun. I was just, you know, testing the waters... so to speak. But then I got into an argument with Malfoy this morning which left me fuming all day and I've had no sleep_ whatsoever_ and Fletch asked me out for the umpteenth time and he was being so kind, allowing me to leave work early, you know? He really is good to me, he truly is a gentleman and he looked so downhearted when I rejected him, I couldn't bare it, so I just thought 'sod it'! And I- I agreed. And he's taking me to lunch tomorrow and I think he really likes me and- and... I don't know, Ginny, I genuinely don't know! I think I like him too, but I just... I don't know..."

"Bloody hell."

Hermione would have laughed at Ginny's uncanny resemblance to Ron if she hadn't gotten herself so worked up during her confession. Her heart felt as if it was about to make its way up and out of her mouth. And unfortunately, now that she _wanted_ her to say something, Ginny had fallen completely silent.

"What do I do?" Hermione whimpered, her head falling into her hands limply. "I like him, I really do. But, I'm not sure if I _like_ him. At least, not in that way. I can't help but feel that I'm stringing him along and I _hate_ it. Fletch doesn't deserve that. He's one of the most genuine men I've ever had the fortune to meet and I just-"

"Go on this lunch date with him and see how it goes." Ginny interrupted, lips pursed and her face contorted into a thoughtful expression.

"What?"

"Well, it's the only way to tell if you like him that way or not. Surely you can't be certain with one date. I mean, it's not like it was when you were with Ron. You've known my brother since you were eleven years old and maybe that's what you're used to. But, now that you've left Hogwarts, you're going to be meeting all sorts of new people who you don't know anything about. You're going to have to take the time to learn about them and grow to love them as you did with Ron."

"I know, Ginny, but-"

"It's all just a huge learning curve, Hermione. You have to remember that you're not at school any more."

Ginny was right. Of course she was. Hermione had always known that it was going to be difficult coming to terms with leaving full time education, but she had never realised just how strongly she had been viewing the adult world through the eyes of that Gryffindor schoolgirl. _Ginny was right_. She wasn't at Hogwarts any more. And she didn't know Fletch like she knew Harry or Ron or even Seamus Finnegan. But, she could. She _would_. It would take time, that was all.

It seemed ridiculous now, simply laughable, but she had begun to wonder if she was interested in somebody else. Subconsciously, of course. What other reason would she have for showing no interest in a man who could seemingly not do enough for her? Maybe she hadn't gotten over Ron at all. But no, she was just being silly. She was still in the mindset of that seventeen year old girl, attempting to juggle an infatuation with her best friend, an oncoming war and Snape's endless onslaught of Potions essays and still hoping to come out of the other end clinically sane.

"I'm right." Ginny announced, breaking her train of thought. "I know I'm right. There really is no need to boost my ego."

"I wasn't planning to."

"Though I still don't understand why you didn't tell me. This is the sort of thing that I pester you for, Hermione! You're my best friend! I need you to tell me these things. Otherwise, I just end up having to bug Harry for the pure purpose of sorry entertainment. And you know how I hate to listen to the numerous tales of his and Ron's petty squabbles. Honestly, they're worse than one of Professor Binns' lectures."

"Professor Binns' lectures were, are and always will be utterly fascinating. His historical knowledge is-"

"I don't care, Hermione." Ginny groaned. "The ghost can ramble on for what feels like an eternity. It's mind numbing."

"It's educational-"

"And _you_ are changing the subject." She sighed, sending her a warning look from the opposite end of the sofa. "Look, I say go for it. What's the worse that could happen?"

"I could insult his every belief, dream and aspiration. He could sack me. He could report my shameful incompetence to Shacklebolt. He could-"

"He could treat you like a queen and maybe you could end up sharing a bed with an actual human being rather than your cat."

"I think you'll find Crookshanks to be adequate and satisfactory, thank you very much."

"You're so desperate." Ginny chuckled, throwing her head back and rolling her eyes. "Just do it, Hermione. Go out with him. Have fun. Stop thinking for, what, an hour? _Please_? And then come straight here and tell me every graphic detail, right down to the last impassioned moan. That way I can inform Luna, Lav and Parvati of your romantic advances."

"I can assure you there will be no romantic advances. And certainly no impassioned moans."

"Oh, there will be."

* * *

><p>It was far later than she had expected it to be by the time Hermione arrived back at the house. Upon arrival, her home appeared empty. There was only one light on in the entire building, and that was the study. She tentatively made her way towards the room, paying little attention as she flicked on various lamps as she went.<p>

He was sat at the desk, working. She had never seen him work from home, at least not for his Muggle job. The sight was strangely endearing, especially as he was seemingly unaware of her presence.

Unsure of what to say, Hermione simply knocked gently on the wooden door, one hand still gingerly curled around the brass knob, and cleared her throat. He glanced at her once, fleeting and vacant, then looked straight back down at the scattered papers on the desk, wholly uninterested.

"Hi." She tried.

All she received in response was a low grunt and a diminutive nod.

"I just wanted to let you know that I'm back." She told him. He reluctantly lifted his head again, cocking an eyebrow at her in that arrogant manner that only_ he _could manage. "But, I can see that you're busy... I'll just-" She paused, taking a deep breath. "Look, I'm here, okay? If you want to talk or-"

"I'm working."

"Fine. You know what? That's absolutely fine. If that's how you want to be, then so be it. I'm not trying to fight you any more, Malfoy. I'm done." She glowered at him as he let his head drop back down to the documents before him, pen poised and ready to continue his denial of her existence. "When you finally learn how to grow up, you know where to find me."

Slamming the door on her way out of the room, she wasn't quite sure whether it had been on purpose or not. Either way, she couldn't find the energy within herself to care. Her stomach was emanating a dull ache which she was beginning to find difficult to ignore. She hadn't eaten anything so far and she was on the verge of collapsing.

Flicking on the kitchen light, she was taken aback, unsure what to make of the plate of food laid out on the table before her, steaming hot and crying out to be eaten. The sentiments behind the meal just made her head hurt all the more. She was almost positive that Draco Malfoy was surely going to be the death of her.


	15. Understanding

**I don't even know how long it's been since I updated. Over a month? I think it's been over a month.**

**Okay, I'm ready for your abuse. I know, I deserve it. I don't even have a decent excuse this time, I just procrastinated for all I was worth and succumbed to writer's block (despite me having a plan). I know, I'm uselss. **

**Anyhow, here's the next chapter. I don't really like it that much, I think I made Draco too OOC, but that's irrelevant. So, enjoy! If you remember what the story is about, that is. You may have forgotten...**

**I own nothing.**

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><p>28th June 1998<p>

Ten days of mutual silence was pushing the boarders of childish, surely. Yet, bar a mandatory collection of grunts and nods of acknowledgement, neither she, nor Draco, had uttered a word to the other. She was seriously beginning to question their supposed maturity.

And it wasn't uncommon for Hermione to conveniently forget the sole reason they had reverted back to their familiar, hostile behaviour. After all, it had become somewhat of a ritual for the young witch. However, her head, as brilliant as it was, had a way of reminding her all too often of the events leading up to their disagreement. And, of course, such a reminder only lead to a striking wave of nausea and unfamiliar emotions. Emotions which were most severely unwelcome.

First and foremost was the guilt. This appeared to be the most pronounced feeling evoked from somewhere deep within the pit of her gut whenever _that_ moment sprung to mind.

Ultimately, she was otherwise engaged when it came to anything of that nature. Her second date with Fletch had run smoothly and considerably well, much like their first. Looking at the situation from anybody else's point of view, certainly it looked that she was involved with him to at least some extent. Which begged the question of why a particular blond-haired pain in the arse was continuing to persistently play on her mind. Not that anybody else was aware of these particular thoughts. No, it was just that Hermione _was_. And for the moment, that was more than enough for her to deal with.

Yes, progress between the pair was copiously lacking, and appeared unlikely to change any time in the near future. This whole situation had become a twisted and sadistic competition of sorts to conclude who could act as if they cared less. And Hermione would be damned if she was to give in first.

The scraping of his chair as he stood and turned away from her jostled her from her thoughts. She couldn't keep the glare from contorting her features as she watched his retreating back make its way from the kitchen, refused to rearrange her look of utmost contempt until the resonating slam of the front door had her shoving her half eaten bowl of Cheerios away from her and across the table.

As determined as she was, Hermione felt obliged to admit, at least to herself, that their prolonged silence was affecting her. Much to her discontent, Draco Malfoy was a source of rather stimulating conversation at the best of times; especially after the hours exhausted in too close proximity with countless Ministry drones, talking nothing but finance and stock shares. She was, dare she say it, almost beginning to miss his insulting demeanour and witty comebacks. They had provided her with her only source of entertainment ever since they had arrived at the Ministry issued house nearly two months previous.

Still, she absolutely refused to stand down. To give into his childish antics – she was vexed to acknowledge that she was giving as good as she got – would be nothing short of an insult to her infamous nature of defiance. An exasperated sigh broke through pursed lips and, plucking her wand from the counter top, Hermione took that as her cue to leave.

Right now, she needed some space. Work would distract her and, after clearing her muggy thoughts, maybe she could figure out a way to get through the next couple of months with her sanity still intact.

One could only hope.

* * *

><p>"Working overtime?" Fletch tutted, a smirk gracing his features, one shoulder propped up against the door frame to her office. "It must be bad."<p>

"Ah, Saint Fletcher, the Ministries most loveable employee who, judging from recent rumours via Heather Salter from International Magical Cooperation, slept in his office last night with nothing but the cradle of his arms upon his desk to rest his weary head. My favourite hypocrite," Hermione smiled sweetly. "Do come in."

"Kingsley set me on a new case yesterday. We can't all get into Minister Shacklebolt's good books on charm and reputation alone, Miss War Heroine Extraordinaire. Some of us have to actually put the work in."

"That's low. Even for you."

"Yeah, but you love me regardless." He grinned, dragging a chair over to her desk and dropping into it rather unceremoniously.

"On the contrary, you are nothing more to me than a mere peasant who fetches my coffee on a Monday morning. You would make a rather wonderful personal assistant, you know?"

"Ouch. You cut me deep, Hermione. You cut me really, really deep."

"I do try."

"Try you might, but you're avoiding the question." He cocked an eyebrow at her, grabbing an apple from her desk and tossing it up into the air rhythmically, repeatedly. "Is the delightful Mr Malfoy giving you trouble?"

"Not at all. As always, he's a pleasure to come home to every evening. Whatever suggests otherwise?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing at all. It's just the general semblance of unmitigated misery you've been carrying around the Ministry corridors these past couple of weeks. It's simply taken the time to peak my interest."

"I am not miserable!" She gasped, swatting at the apple as it once again rose into the air above them. "I'm simply... I'm just-"

"Wallowing in self pity and unadulterated loathing for your home life?"

"No!" She shrieked. "You're insufferable! Honestly, Fletch, Malfoy is nothing I can't deal with. You knew him at school, so you know how it is."

"I knew _of_ him for all of three years and from what I heard, he was an arrogant little twerp who had his head lodged way too far up his own pureblood arse."

"Yes, however it was also common knowledge that his bark was far worse than his bite. I can handle Malfoy. Trust me."

Fletch nodded in understanding, surveying the brunette before him carefully before letting a sigh escape the wry grin his mouth was twisted into. "I do," He assured her. "Implicitly."

"Good. And you would do well to remember as such." She told him, her tone playful and most contradictory to her words. With an air of light-hearted finesse, she turned herself away from him and held her nose up to the ceiling. "Now, you're dismissed, Mr Fletcher. I do believe it's time I got home."

With a curt nod, he stood from the desk and began to make his way from her office, only to completely back track and end up face to face with her again.

"Wait," He shook his head to clear his thoughts. "There was a purpose to my visiting you at this ungodly hour, believe it or not."

"It's lovely to see you so on form, Sir." She chuckled. "Go on then, spit it out."

"I had this sent down from Wizengamot Administration Services," He explained, pulling a small manila from the inside pocket of the muggle blazer adorning him that day. "It has your name written all over it. Literally. I don't know how many stamps they used. I became rather bored after the fourteenth. But, you'll have quite a collection after peeling this lot off."

"I'm not a bloody stamp collector, Fletch!" She cried, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration – a habit she had picked up from watching Draco. "What is it?"

"No idea." He replied, handing over the envelope. "Looks pretty important though, don't you think?"

Hermione shrugged off his comment, bringing her attention back to the envelope she was currently toying with between nimble fingers.

_ Wizengamot Administration Services..._

Oh, she knew precisely what this letter was. She had been dreading the blasted document ever since she had sent out the request for her parents memories to be restored, allowing them to return to their old lives in London, with their little, yet very successful, family run dental practice. Allowing them to return to _her_.

Hermione had filed the appeal almost immediately after the war had ended. She had been waiting on the Ministry's response for almost two months. And here she was, poised in the middle of her office at said Ministry of Magic, with her boss inclining himself ever so casually over the desk in curiosity, holding the answer as to whether or not she would have a family come her birthday. Come Christmas time. Or even at all.

_Open it._

_ Open it._

_ Open it._

Again and again, she willed herself to pry apart possibly the only obstruction between her and her parents (excluding, _well_, an ocean). Her mum and dad.

Suddenly, a life time of breathe in, breathe out, meant absolutely nothing. She couldn't think straight, let alone urge herself to open the bloody thing. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she was acutely aware of Fletch and his futile attempts at gaining her attention, her name repeatedly falling from his lips. But, her line of sight was deadly set on the splodge of wax sealing shut the one and only thing in the world that mattered to her at that moment. Never had that little purple Ministry stamp appeared so unholy.

_Just open it, Hermione._

No. No, because she needed to be alone. She needed to be at home, snuggled up on the sofa in front of the fire with her old, fluffy blanket and a hot cup of tea. She required the sort of comfort that her Ministry office, nor Fletch, could offer her.

Five-thirty; Draco wouldn't be home until at least half-past six. She still had time. She still had-

"HERMIONE!" Fletch yelled. He had hold of her upper arms, his grip firm and only slightly painful and she figured he had been shaking her for a while now.

"Sorry." She muttered, blinking a couple of times in a feeble attempt to gather her emotions. "Sorry, it's just-"

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

His eyes were wild, panicked. She almost felt guilty for bringing about such a reaction in him. But, she didn't have room for guilt. Not right now.

"I have to go home, Fletch." It was barely above a whisper and she doubted he would have heard her at all if they hadn't been so close. "I'm sorry. I just need to go home."

"Why?" He tried, shaking her once more. "Hermione, tell me. Tell me what's wrong."

"I'm sorry, Fletch, I just really need to go now." She didn't dare look him in the eye as she shuffled away from his grasp, absentmindedly snatching her coat and bag as she made her way out into the empty corridor, throwing one last feeble attempt at reassurance over her shoulder as she went. "I'll see you tomorrow."

She barely caught his echoing goodbye, her thoughts unwavering from the crumpling paper clutched tightly to her chest.

* * *

><p>Laying down the disconcerting commodity, smoothing out the creases she had subconsciously created during her apparition back to the house, Hermione picked up the TV remote from the coffee table. Flicking the standby button, a mindless programme consisting of ludicrously priced hoovers appeared on screen. She hardly paid it much mind, muting the chatter before it had a chance to reach her ears.<p>

_Do it quickly_, she thought to herself, returning from the kitchen carrying her cup of tea back into the living room where the letter awaited her undivided attention. She popped the steaming mug beside the envelope, grabbing her old blanket from the back of the sofa and draping it over herself as she fell into the cushions. _Like ripping off a plaster._

Several calming breaths later, she gingerly began to prise purple wax from brown paper.

It was short, the letter. She had expected it to be longer. Yet, it was merely a couple of lines in length; barely eligible to be called a letter. It was addressed solely to Hermione. Not that she had expected it to be otherwise. It wasn't as if she had any other relatives to share such a moment with. Besides, even if she had, she would have still wished to do this alone.

Hermione was never a selfish person. It was never who she was by nature. But, these were _her_ parents. _Her_ mum and dad. And this was her moment, her problem, her world that would come crashing down if what she dreaded to be written in this letter was, indeed, written there.

Mustering up what little Gryffindor courage she felt she had salvaged from the shock of today's arrival, her eyes began to glide over the inked words on the parchment before her.

_ Dear Miss Hermione J. Granger,_

_ I write to inform you that the Wizengamot of the British Ministry of Magic and the panel of five members of the Wizards' Council decided on 27th June 1998 to decline the appeal for the memory restoration and defection of all existing memory charms cast upon Mr William L. B. Granger and Mrs Jane A. Granger prior to 2nd April 1999. This is due to the extent and severity to which the spell was cast and is set to ensure the safety and sanity of any person(s) involved._

_ Pursuant to decree(s) 18, 44 and 91 of the Ministry of Magic, the judgement of 25th June 1998 therefore became final on 27th June 1998. _

_ Your faithfully, _

_ Benjamin D. F. Lockley_

_ Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic_

Declined.

They had declined her appeal. They had rejected her! For little under a year, no less.

If she hadn't experienced any significant lung problems in the past, she was most definitely making up for lost time now. Merlin, she could barely catch a breath. A year! She was to be without her parents, her _family,_ for another bloody year!

Oh, but they were_ right there. _Nothing more than a plane ride, or even an international apparition allowance, away. They were alive. They were walking and talking and breathing and _living_ and they were. _Right. There_. And yet, she was unable to reach them. She was unable to do anything, but sink further back into the sofa as she encouraged the numerous cushions to swallow her whole, clutching the blanket and letter alike closer to her chest as she became all too aware of that familiar numbing ache that had chewed at her soul as she walked away from her childhood home all those months before.

It was unfair. Plain and simple. It was unjust and wrong and she had the mind to take this up with Kingsley right away, and yet she didn't move. Couldn't, maybe.

Her parents, who she wanted to see more than anybody else on this Earth, right now, were out there. And no matter how hard she wished for it, she couldn't have them. Somehow the promise of their ultimate reunion in just under a year's time did little to console her. And maybe she was being pathetic and needy, but it hurt. Merlin help her, it _hurt_. Because despite the fact that they were out there and despite the fact that she would ultimately be able to return to them in the end, right here, right now, Hermione Granger had never felt more alone.

And, for the first time since the two of them had been thrown together, wayward and unwilling, Hermione began to understand exactly what Draco Malfoy was going through.

* * *

><p>She wasn't particularly aware of how much time had passed after she had locked herself inside her room, praying to all the deities that would listen to make the tears just <em>stop<em>. A couple of hours, maybe.

It was her turn to cook tonight. Surely he was home by now. And surely he was wondering where the bloody hell she was and why she had failed to make any form of food appear. Arrogant and insufferable he may be, but Draco was still a man. Hermione had learned many things from her time Horcrux hunting with Harry and Ron, the most unwelcome, yet insightful, piece of knowledge being that boys rarely thought about anything but their stomachs. She doubted Draco could differ too much.

So, it came as little, to no, surprise to her when he finally managed to pluck up the courage to knock on her bedroom door. She was never a quiet crier, had never quite been able to understand and master the art of silent sobs. Her wand was still resting at the bottom of her bag on the foyer floor and she hadn't the heart to fetch it after she had taken refuge upstairs.

No silencing charm.

Naturally, he would have heard her at some point following his arrival home.

"Granger?" His voice was tentative, but not at all hoarse as she had expected it to be. Then again, he must speak to the muggles at work. She supposed that not even he could stay completely silent for as long as they had to each other.

And, Merlin forgive her, but she could not help herself from taking some form of comfort from the simple sound of his voice.

"I'll be out in a bit." She tried to shout back to him, but her voice just got caught up in the pitiful mess that had become her vocal chords. Gods, she sounded awful. And whether he was aware of her current condition or not, she would still be damned if she was about to break down before Draco Malfoy.

"Granger, come out."

"In a-"

"Now!" He emphasised the command with a thump against the closed door, startling her from the foetal position amongst the bed sheets.

"Just go downstairs." She told him, half crawling, half walking towards the threshold. "I'm coming now."

No movement. Shock and horror, he had ignored her one and only request of him. She was hardly surprised. With one final, vicious swipe at her eyes using the heel of her palm, she cracked open the door. He had been leaning against it until the movement jostled him. He spun to look at her, one perfect blond eyebrow arched in question and not a hair on his head out of place.

Git.

Merlin only knew what she looked like right now. Hermione decided she'd rather not know.

Draco opened his mouth to speak, but she watched the words die on his tongue as he surveyed her more than dishevelled appearance. He looked her up and down once. Twice. Three times. She could have sworn that something akin to concern entered his steady grey gaze, but he had schooled each and every feature into one of nonchalance and utmost disapproval before she had the chance to decipher it.

"I forgot dinner." She explained with a shrug, glad to hear that her voice was coming through slightly stronger. "I can make us something now, so don't fret. Merlin forbid you should starve."

Making her way downstairs, she paid no heed to his echoing footsteps falling behind her own. She didn't go anywhere near the kitchen, despite her declaration that she was going to make them both something to eat. She didn't want to. She didn't want to do anything – including arguing with _him._ She simply made her way into the living room and curled in on herself on one of the sofa's.

"What the fuck happened to you?" He asked. It wasn't harsh, but it made her jump nonetheless. She hadn't noticed him follow her in.

"Nothing, I'm-"

"Clearly."

"I'm fine." She assured him, trying her damned hardest to fix him with a glare.

"Cut the shit, Granger."

"What-"

"I said cut it." He warned. "I do not wish to hear the word fine leave your mouth in my presence, or any word synonymous to it, because it is quite obviously bullshit."

She didn't reply, merely set her gaze upon the flames dancing around each other in the hearth. Her eyes were stinging, burning, and she could only imagine they were rimmed the colour of pure beetroot right now. She didn't dare blink for fear of the tears that would once again begin. She didn't dare let them spill whilst he was watching her.

"I thought you were still at the Ministry." He told her. She could feel his penetrating eyes as he stared her down from the sofa adjacent to her own. "I didn't know you were home until I came upstairs and heard... Well, if I'd have known, I would have-"

"What?" She snapped. She hadn't meant to snap. "What would you have done, Malfoy? Because if I remember rightly, we haven't exactly been on the most pleasant of terms as of late. So, go on. Surprise me. What would you have done?"

"I would have left you to it if I'd have known you'd be anything like this, you ungrateful bint." Sneering now.

"Piss off, Malfoy."

"Why?" He asked, his tone as clipped as hers. "So mope around here playing the victim in peace? You see, that's your problem, Granger. Always quick to blame, never stepping down of that fucking pedestal, I'm surprised you haven't carted me off to some other Ministry-"

She cut him off mid-sentence, a bitter and choked laugh forcing its way through clenched teeth and biting tongue. "You?"

"What?"

"You think this is about you?"

"What else is it going to be about. You bleeding heart Gryffindors always did wear your hearts on your sleeves. It's nauseating, really-"

"This is_ not_ about you!" Hermione cried, snatching up a cushion to bury her face into as she let out a scream of pure frustration. "This is not about you, Malfoy! It's about _me_! Can't it ever just be about me for a change?"

Here came the tears.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

No reply.

What could she say? They hadn't spoken a word in days. Did he really expect her to pour out her heart to him without a seconds hesitation? Didn't he know her at all?

Oh, but the tears. Those damn, stupid, silly, unnecessary tears that _would not stop_! Why wouldn't they just stop? It seemed as if every time she tried, they just doubled in their efforts and caused her shoulders to shake harder, her nose to get stuffier and her eyes to sting even more painfully than before.

And Draco wasn't helping. No, he wasn't helping at all as he planted himself beside her, patting her shoulder awkwardly with one stiff hand as she buried her face even further into the tear-soaked cushion. When she heard him clear his throat, she wasn't sure whether to laugh or just cry harder. However, when he clumsily attempted to adjust her stance so that she was leaning into his chest, something snapped. She shoved at him, pulling back so as to throw the cushion his way.

"You're so rubbish!" She laughed, a watery smile making its way onto her face.

"Piss off."

"Oh, but you are." She was grinning like the Cheshire cat by now, and was glad for it too. Tears would do her no good. "In an endearing way, mind you. It's all very... _you_. Very awkwardly you."

"I don't do crying girls, Granger." He glowered. "You're nauseatingly pathetic with all the snivelling and the whimpering and the snot-"

"I do not have snot! Don't be so vulgar."

"Everybody has snot."

"But you're not supposed to talk about it!"

"Prude."

"Ferret."

"Originality never was your forte, was it Granger?"

"Touché."

Neither her nor Draco spoke for some time. Hermione was becoming rather well accustomed with their grate and the flames before her as they licked at the edge of the brick, toying with the idea that had arisen in her mind after their awkward, yet fairly comforting, encounter.

It was as unsettling as revelations came, but she concluded that she had missed him. She had missed their banter, from their heated debates on the Wizarding and Muggle economy's, to their petty squabbles over who had left the glass of milk by the kitchen sink the night before. She had missed him.

Which was stupid.

Because he was Draco Malfoy and she was Hermione Granger. And together, they just did not work. They were two completely different pieces of the puzzle. In fact, Hermione would do better to believe that they were two different puzzles altogether.

And yet, here they were.

"I used a memory charm on my parents." Hermione spat out all of a sudden, not bothering to look at him beside her as she spoke, though she felt fairly certain he was looking right at her. "I took away their memories of me, to keep them safe, you see. During the war. You know as well as I do that muggles were hardly considered to be safe during the time I was away with Harry and Ron. I couldn't very well keep them protected from where I... Well, I planted false ones in their heads, had them move away to Australia. You see, as far as Monica and Wendell Wilkins are concerned, they never had a daughter."

She looked at him then, only to find that he hadn't been looking at her at all. Though he was listening, she was sure. She would make him listen. He had asked for this, after all. He was staring at the flames, just as she had been, his gaze fixed and concentrated as she watched, she could almost see him processing the information.

"I filed an appeal to lift the charm as soon as it was over, of course. But, you know the Ministry." She laughed humourlessly. "And today, I received a letter. They say I have to wait another year due to the extent of the charm I placed on them. I know it's not much but..." She shrugged. "I still miss them. I figured you, of all people, would understand that."

He did look at her then. His eyes were fixed upon her own and she had to hold in a gasp, never having really looked at him up close before. He was... He wasn't as bad as she had made him out to be in her head. Quite the opposite, in fact. She was almost positive that she had imagined his eyes as they darted to her drying and chapped lips. She couldn't help but dart out her tongue to dampen them instinctively.

Yes, it was all down to instinct. The way she was leaning into the warmth radiating from his body, the way he was mirroring her movements down to the last flutter of an eyelash and the way he dropped his forehead to lean against hers.

And then it happened so quickly, she barely had time to register it, let alone play the game of who had initiated what.

All she was aware of was the feel of his lips on her own; warm, soft lips that moved in perfect sync with hers. All she was aware of were the hands slowly making their way into the pale blond strands that so adamantly refused to look anything less than perfect – she'd soon see to that. All she was aware of was the hand pressing into her lower back, strong and steady and sure, pressing her closer to him as she deepened the kiss.

All she was aware of was _him_.

With something akin to a groan, Draco pulled away, pushed himself up off the sofa and began to head out of the room. Hermione was thinking about merely letting him go, but after ten days of silence, pouring her 'bleeding Gryffindor heart' out to him and then _that_, she sure as hell wasn't about to watch him walk away from her without so much as a backwards glance.

"Where are you going?" She didn't mean for it to sound so bloody needy.

"Well, someone has to make dinner before we waste away." He grumbled, but Hermione didn't fail to notice the ghost of a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. She also didn't fail to notice that they were slightly swollen.

She had done that.

"When you say _make_-"

"I mean I'm going to order Chinese, yes."

She smiled as she watched him round the corner of the door frame, chuckled as she heard the muffled profanities coming from upstairs as he attempted to find the house phone that she had placed by the key bowl next to the front door earlier that morning.

Though she wouldn't say anything.

No. Because, right now, Hermione Granger was happy to just let things be. Enough was enough for one day. Tomorrow was the time for talking and thinking. But, right now...

"Chinese sounds good."


	16. Deception

**It's been so long since I've updated. So, if you're still reading, then kudos to you.**

**I'm sorry I've been away so long. Some of you already know that my Grandma passed away a few weeks ago, so obviously life's been a bit mad lately and that's why it's taken me so long to write this chapter. Then I had some health problems myself, I left college, started a new job and yeah, so... Hello, again. You never know, I might start updating regularly one day.**

**As usual, I own nothing.**

* * *

><p>29th June 1998<p>

Weak.

Vulnerable.

Conflicted, most certainly.

Draco felt all of this and oh so much more. He had his head and his heart and the knowledge of his upbringing and the blood running through his veins and the echoes of what what _what_ would his father say and what would his mother think and his conscience and _himself_ to fight with over and over and over again.

And yet, nothing appeared to be coming forward to present itself as the right way to go about his current predicament. Not one of his thoughts, nor his feelings, were currently expressing any reassurance. And it wasn't as if he could get a second opinion on the matter, even if he had wanted one.

Never had he been a sentimental being. Never had he particularly held a belief in all of that head over heart, heart over head bollocks sprouted by the naïve and hopeless romantics who spent the majority of their time with their heads buried in nauseating romance novels with unrealistic happy endings that would never have occurred had such a story not been a mere fictional tale. However, every internal source capable of autonomous thought and feeling seemed to be attempting to convince him of how to go about this situation differently.

And all this, all this fucked up, nonsensical bullshit, had been brought on by nothing more than a simple kiss.

It was only a kiss.

But,_ oh Merlin_, but _no_, it wasn't only a kiss. It was a kiss shared with Granger. It was a kiss shared with the Mudblood. It was a kiss shared with the best friend of the infamous pair of pricks that he loved to loathe. And it was a kiss that Draco had already narrowly avoided once before and had dwelled upon enough to last him a life time.

He thought he had gotten over this.

He had _sworn _to himself that he was over this.

Evidently, he had lied.

It would be easier, perhaps, to put it all down to hormones and instinct and primal urges. Because, dilemma aside, Draco Malfoy was still an eighteen year old, hot blooded male. And as unwanted and problematic as these _needs_ may be, they were real and true. And so, yes, it would be so very easy to put the events of yesterday down to nothing more than his unfortunate, yet entirely natural, disposition.

But, how could he?

It was no secret that a rather lengthy period had passed since he had last coaxed a warm and willing witch into his bed. The events of the past year had served as an inconvenient and most bothersome distraction from such niceties and didn't appear to be letting up any time soon. And Draco had no doubt that, had he been kissing any other witch that previous night, he would have lead the lovely lady right up the stairs and in between his bedsheets.

Hermione Granger should have been no exception to this.

Merlin knows, she had been willing. After all, it had been he who had pulled away in the end. He who had sacrificed a much needed and postponed shag in return for a cheap takeaway Chinese, which was mediocre at best. And he who had comforted the bint into the early hours of the morning and had ordered her to bed – her _own _bed – without his company.

Why?

Draco wasn't thick. The only company, bar Granger, that he received these days was that of muggles. And he was hardly desperate enough to sink so low as to bed one of _those_. Granger, muggleborn or no muggleborn, was to be the only witch within his presence for the next five or so months. No, it wasn't as if he was open to many options. Like his mother had always informed him; beggars could not be choosers.

Not to mention that it would seriously fuck with the twat twins' minds to know that he had screwed their austere golden girl. Draco didn't think he was one to pass up an opportunity as mouthwatering-ly tempting as that.

But, he was.

And he had.

_Why?_

* * *

><p>He was avoiding her, she was sure. He had even gone so far as to skip breakfast in aid of spending the morning locked away in his bedroom.<p>

Childish.

Obviously, the night had given him time to brood over their kiss. Although, he had to emerge from the depths of his safe haven sooner or later. He was due to start work in little over half an hour.

Hermione was no hypocrite. Of course, she had also thought about the kiss they had shared. If she was being completely truthful, she had scarcely thought of anything else. This was not like their previous encounter in the kitchen, interrupted by Ron's panic and Harry's carelessness. This was not something she could simply brush off as a mistake she had almost made, yet avoided by narrow margin. This time, they had finished what they'd started and no amount of denial could convince her otherwise.

And so she sat at the kitchen table, nibbling absentmindedly on a piece of dry toast that was just a little too burnt around the edges and watching crumbs fall freely onto her crisply ironed work skirt. It wasn't in her nature to dwell. She wasn't the kind of person who enjoyed replaying actions and events over in her mind until it was all she could think about. They were in the past and would never be changed, would never be undone, so to dwell on such things would be silly and inconsequential.

However, she still worried. She still chewed her bottom lip red raw and bit her nails down to the cuticle over it. Because she was Hermione Granger and she had a conscience and it was telling her that what she had done was wrong wrong wrong.

Because she was seeing Fletch.

Because her best friends were blissfully ignorant to the entire situation.

Because, primarily, Draco Malfoy was Draco Malfoy, surroundings and circumstance set aside. And in normal, natural conditions, he would refuse to ever look twice at her, lest it be to frown upon and mock her very existence. She did, after all, have several years worth of first hand experience to back up such an impression.

So, yes, she did worry. She did care. But, she would not dwell on it.

Fortunately, Crookshanks had returned to the house that morning. It wasn't unusual for the feline to disappear for weeks at a time, and so his homecoming was always something Hermione looked forward to; a welcome distraction. Her faithful pet was currently seated upon the windowsill, tail swishing heartily so that it brushed the soap suds left over in the sink below, turning the straggly strands of fur a shade of dark copper. She smiled as she watched the cat eyeball a lone sparrow perched on the fence outside, searching the garden for any rogue earthworms.

The ball of orange fur turned its head to purr at her. Hermione stood from the table to reach over and pluck him from his rest, only to have him let out a loud cry and jump from her arms and out of the kitchen.

Shaking her head, she sighed at the realisation that her lack of understanding stretched beyond even that of human males.

"I've always said that sorry excuse for a cat was dangerous." Came a drone from the doorway behind her.

"He's not dangerous," Hermione turned to face Draco, eyeing him warily. "Just temperamental."

With a blatant ignorance for the double entendre in her statement, Draco moved forward to collect his briefcase. She had placed it before the door to the cellar that morning in an attempt to force him to confront her. It had worked, evidently.

"Don't you have a job to go to?" He asked casually.

"I'm not in until ten."

"Ouch. Missing out on all that unfinished paperwork hurt, does it Granger? I mean, to you, I imagine it's a bit like McGonagall cancelling Transfiguration-"

"Yes, well, I'm sure I'll make it up."

"Good, because my wage is shit and we're out of eggs."

"Stop it!" Hermione cried suddenly, placing her hands upon her hips and setting her features into a glare perfected through years spent in the company of Harry and Ron.

"Stop what?" He appeared to be too busy rifling through the papers in his briefcase now to meet her gaze.

"Stop avoiding the subject."

"I'm not avoiding the subject." He cocked an eyebrow at her and snapped the lid shut. "But, if you really want to talk about the ginger creature – the cat, I mean, not Weaselbee - it'll have to wait. I have work."

Draco had almost made it to the door when a hand on his arm stopped him. Hermione had spun him around before he had chance to question it, looking up at him defiantly with her arms folded across her chest.

"Granger..." He warned in a low tone.

"It's only going to be awkward if you make it that way."

"I have to go to work, Granger. As you so love to remind me, it's an important factor of my sentence."

"You know what? Fine." Hermione huffed, continuing as she began to gesture to the room. "Just watch you don't trip over that big elephant as you go."

"Elephant? What the fuck are you chattering on about now, Granger? I have to-"

"Then go!" She yelled. "Leave! See if I care."

"You're such a whiny bitch in the mornings-"

"Piss off, Malfoy!" She screeched, grabbing the plate of half eaten toast from the table and hurling it in the direction of his head.

Alas, Draco's seeker reflexes allowed him to duck out of the way of the flying object almost as soon as her hand had come into contact with the commodity, causing the china to hit the wall behind him and shatter to the tiled floor below. Hermione simply glowered at his darkening gaze and the downturn of his lips.

"And I want that attitude sorted out by the time I return. Regardless of the circumstances, I am still your superior." He drawled, picking at a piece of lint on the shoulder of his muggle blazer.

"You arrogant arse hole!"

"Later, Granger." He threw over his shoulder as he turned and walked out of the room, leaving Hermione fuming as the slam of the front door echoed through the empty house.

* * *

><p>"Cheer up, 'Mione. It's only a year. Not even that." Ron assured her from his place on the edge of her desk. "I'd be grateful for it if I were you. I mean, not that I don't love mum and dad, but there's only so much fuss and mothering a man can take from his parents before he loses it completely. And you've had eighteen years with them already. I doubt you'll miss much."<p>

"Thanks, Ron." She replied flatly.

To say that she was unimpressed by his attempts to comfort her over the news of her parents would be an understatement. He seemed to be getting worse and worse at this as the years passed by.

Emotional range of a teaspoon, indeed.

"He's right," Harry threw in suddenly, backtracking quickly as she moved her cold glare from Ron to him. "In a twisted sort of way, I mean. You know as well as the rest of us how fast a year can pass by, Hermione. Make the most of the freedom while you have it."

Ron scoffed at that and two sets of eyes shot over to look at him in questioning.

"Well, she's hardly going to be 'making the most' of her freedom with Ferret Face lurking around every corner of her house, is she?"

Ah. Malfoy; the real reason for her glum mood on such a fine day. Not that she was any less than unwilling to share that little nugget of information with her boys. The unyielding pain in the arse – or rather, her argument with him this morning - had been playing on her mind all day.

She had contrived to sit out the most of her seething mood in her office, alone, whilst she came up with a plan to get the git to talk to her about the night before without totally dismissing her. That was until she, quite literally, threw open the heavy wooden door to find Harry and Ron searching through her desk drawers. And after relentlessly ranting at them until their ears bled to keep their noses out of her organised business, she had begun to wonder why they were there at all.

They had heard the news of her parents.

And now she felt ten times worse than she had before she had arrived at work. She hadn't thought about her parents that morning, far too occupied with _him_. Now she just felt all the more guilty when faced with her two best friends. Now she just felt like dragon dung.

The thought of having to look Fletch in the eye some time today didn't do too many wonders for her conscience either.

"Hermione?" Harry jostled her, bringing her out of her thoughts and into the realisation that he had been trying to grab her attention for the past three minutes.

"Sorry, Harry." She shook her head in a sorry attempt to clear her head and turned to face the cautious gazes of her two friends. "What were saying?"

"I said you only have another five months with Malfoy, don't you?"

"Oh, yes. Yes."

"See, Ron?" He nudged the red head who simply furrowed his brows in response. "Maybe we could go travelling once all this is over. You know, like you were talking about doing before you took this job with Kingsley. We could go to New York or something."

"Fleur took Bill to visit her Grandmother in South France the summer before last. He said it was good. Decent weather. We should go there." Ron added. "Came back with one heck of a sunburn though. Mum didn't half give him earache when he got home."

"I'm sure Hermione knows a UV protection charm. And if not, there's always Muggle sun cream."

"I suppose so. What do you say, 'Mione?"

Hermione shrugged and continued chewing the nails of the hand she was resting her chin upon, stare fixed upon the door leading from her office to the main corridor of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. "Yeah, maybe."

"See, mate? She's fine!" Ron grinned, to which Harry simply rolled his eyes.

If she was to be completely honest with herself, she was being terribly rude towards Ron and Harry, as she wasn't really listening at all. A part of her was interested, of course. And somewhere in the back of her mind she registered that she would absolutely love to go travelling with her best friends. It was her dream, was it not? However, that same part of her was currently still absorbed in thoughts of a certain blond haired Slytherin. Merlin have mercy, the prat had really gotten under her skin that morning. It was unnerving.

And, sure enough, her friends were beginning to notice the change in her behaviour. Hermione had never been particularly gifted at deception, after all. Especially when concerning her loved ones.

"You know you can talk to us, don't you, Hermione?" Harry asked, placing a comforting hand upon her shoulder. "About anything. We won't judge you."

"I know, Harry." She sighed, shrugging his hand from her as the guilt chewed away at her gut.

"Is there something else bothering you?"

"Not at all." She lied.

"You sure?"

"Of course, Harry. I just- I'd had my hopes up, that's all. You know how I am. Maybe I was a little too optimistic. I shouldn't have been so sure about this sort of thing, knowing full well that it wasn't in my hands to determine the outcome. But, it doesn't stop it from being a complete disappointment to know that I won't be able to see my parents any time soon."

"We just worry about you. You know that, right? You're like a sister to us and Merlin knows you've been through enough this year, we all have and-"

"Look, maybe Ron's right." Hermione quickly interrupted his would-be speech. Her conscience was hanging by a thread by this point. "A long, well deserved holiday in the sun once everything here at the Ministry has been settled could be exactly what we all need. After everything that's happened, it would do us the world of good. _All _of us."

"I guess it would." He nodded, turning back to Ron. "We'll look into it, won't we Ron?"

"Yeah, sure." He shrugged. "After lunch, though. I'm bloody starving."

"Nothing changes, does it?" Hermione glanced at the raven-haired boy beside her, a laugh forcing its way through a tight smile.

"Not much, Hermione, no." He chuckled, then flickered his gaze up to the clock perched on the shelf behind her desk. "We'd better be going if we're going to eat. Lanley'll have our heads if we're late again this week."

"_Again?_" Hermione questioned. "Oh, Harry! How many times did I have to tell you at Hogwarts about punctuality. It really is important-"

"It was two minutes!" Ron blustered. "The guy's an arse! It's like he has nothing better to do than have a go at Harry and me-"

"Harry and _I_."

"-It's pathetic! We're the best Auror's in the department and he bloody well knows it. Whoever gets the Head Auror position next year will have the bloke out of here before you can say Quidditch. Just you watch. Right, Harry?"

"He's only doing his job, Ron. Even if he is more irritating than a bat-bogey hex in the process."

"No excuse." He mumbled. "Anyhow, you can always come to the Burrow if you need anything, 'Mione. You know mum would love it."

"I will." She assured them. "I've been promising Ginny that I'd visit soon, so I'll see you both soon."

"Better do." Ron grinned.

"We'll see you later then." Harry said, kissing her on the cheek and squeezing her tightly, Ron following suit, before heading out of her office with a wave, closing the door behind them.

Hermione let out a strangled noise of exasperation as she let her head drop to the desk, silently cursing Draco Malfoy and his not-so-recently discovered ability to drive her to the brink of insanity.

* * *

><p>"YOU DID <em>WHAT<em>?"

"Keep your voice down! People are staring..."

"Hermione Jean Granger, please tell me that I grossly misheard you and that you and Malfoy, _kissing_, is the most insanely disturbing joke you have ever heard."

"I'm sorry, Ginny, really I am. But-"

"ARE YOU COMPLETELY MENTAL?"

"Will you please be quiet?" Hermione begged. "I don't want the press getting hold of this-"

"Then why are we sat slap bang in the middle of The Leaky Cauldron, may I ask?"

"Because I thought it would prevent this sort of reaction from you." She berated the younger Gryffindor. "Evidently not."

"Prevent a reaction from me? _Prevent a reaction?_ If you thought bringing me to The Leaky Cauldron would prevent me from making a scene, then you've lost it. You really have lost it, Hermione. I can't believe I'm hearing this."

"I know. I know and I'm sorry! But, it's why I came to you. Because I have no idea what I'm doing, because, you know, this is Malfoy we're talking about and I don't know anything about relationships and kissing and, Merlin help me, _sex_. And I just really don't know what to do, Ginny."

"Wait a minute, did you just say _sex_?" Ginny gasped, jaw practically hitting the splintered wood of the pub table. "Hermione, are you-"

"_No!_" She cried, frustrated. "For Godric's sake, Gin, I've told you this before. I've never... you know."

"Well, I was only making sure. I mean, never in a million years did I believe you would be off snogging the bloke, and yet here we are. So, I'm not going to put anything past you any more, okay?"

"Okay, okay, point taken."

"Do Harry and Ron know?"

"Of course they don't know! Are you insane?" She let out a humourless laugh. "They'd never forgive me. Ron especially. They don't even know about Fletch, let alone this _thing_ with Malfoy."

"So, there is something going on then?"

"No. Yes. Sort of." She dropped her head into the palm of her hands. "I don't know, Gin. I have no idea what I'm doing. I feel awful!"

Ginny seemed to ponder on something for a second before narrowing her gaze at the brunette, leaning across the table in a predatory manner.

"I thought you said there was nothing going on."

"What?"

"Last time we spoke. You said that Ron walked in on you and Malfoy, and I asked if you were going at it-"

"Ginny, really?"

"-_And,_ you said there was nothing going on between you two. Did you lie to me, Miss Granger? How long has this thing between you been going on? Honestly?"

"I'm not sure there _is_ anything going on. It was just a kiss. And I wasn't lying to you when I said that nothing happened last time we spoke. What Ron interrupted was completely innocent."

"And would it have stayed 'completely innocent' if my oaf of a brother hadn't barged in?"

Silence.

Hermione leaned back against the creaky, uncomfortable chair and began to chew on the inside of her cheek nervously. Would they have kissed that day if Ron hadn't apparated into their kitchen? If Harry hadn't nearly gotten himself killed? It certainly seemed so. But, given the chance, would either of them really have gone through with it?

_Yes._

She wasn't going to begin denying it now. It was a little late for that, she supposed. And Ginny wasn't easily fooled when it came to affairs of the heart – or in this case, the lips. The red head was currently looking at her expectantly with a knowing look etched across her features, and Hermione didn't believe she truly needed an answer to her question.

"So, this isn't a new attraction, I presume?"

"There _is_ no attraction! That's what I'm failing to understand about the whole situation. We hate each other, Gin. We fight like we're still at Hogwarts, he lives to remind me that I am so very inferior to him and I have to refrain from hexing his pasty arse into the next century if we spend longer than five minutes in the same room. How do two people get from _that_ to... to-"

"Eating each other's faces?"

"I would rephrase it, but yes. That."

"Well, as Spinoza once said, 'if we love someone whom we formerly hated, that love will be greater than if hatred had not preceded it'."

"I didn't know you were interested in philosophy."

"I'm not." Ginny gave a sly grin. "I read it in _Witch Weekly_."

"Oh." Hermione retorted, raising an eyebrow. "Either way, it doesn't matter. I can assure you that whatever is going on between Draco and I, it is most certainly not love, nor anything remotely close."

"Ah, so it's Draco now, is it?"

Hermione simply glared at the youngest Weasley. "Stop it, Ginny."

"I'm just saying! There's a fine line between love and hate. Everybody knows that."

"That's just nonsense that the author's of silly romance novel's conjure up in order to attract an audience of naïve teenage girls."

"Evidently not if you and _Draco_ are anything to go by."

Hermione switched to inspecting her nails as Ginny sat back in her own chair, arms folded across her chest. She was having an internal battle with herself and was trying her damned hardest to stop herself from screaming the little pub down in frustration. Ginny was talking about _love_. Merlin, it was impossible. She barely had the patience to tolerate the arrogant git half of the time and she was fairly certain he felt the same way about her.

And yet, tolerate him, she had.

It had been well over a month since his sentence had begun and things had gotten progressively, dare she say it, _better _between them. Of course, they still argued and he still infuriated her and he still couldn't stand her. However, he no longer got so angry at her that he felt the need to manhandle her. And she could not recall the last time he had used the term 'Mudblood' towards her or in her presence. There had been no hexes or jinxes or curses.

But, that didn't mean anything, did it? They were hardly friends, let alone _lovers_.

No.

No, this was merely Ginevra Weasley doing what she did best – getting ahead of herself. And she wouldn't let it get to her. They had shared a kiss, nothing more and nothing less. Just a kiss. She had been upset, he had, to the best of his ability, comforted her. She supposed Draco was taking it as a spur of the moment thing. So, that's what she would have to do too. Because that's all it was. If it meant nothing to Draco Malfoy, it certainly couldn't mean anything to her.

"This isn't going to go away, Hermione." Ginny sighed. "You live with him for Godric's sake."

"Yes, I know. And I'm the only witch he's had contact with in over a month. I'm the only witch he's going to be in contact with for the next _five_ months."

Oh.

Suddenly, it made sense.

The realization was so strong, so sure, that it almost knocked the breath out of her. There couldn't possibly have been another explanation. Oh, she had been stupid, so terribly stupid. Draco Malfoy was Draco Malfoy and she wasn't naïve enough to believe that he could change so drastically in such a short space of time. No, he was still the degrading prat he had been in school and, damn it, damn _him_, she had almost fallen for it!

Ginny was eyeing her suspiciously, making gestures for her to explain the sudden look of understanding spread across her face.

"Spill it!"

"It's me." Hermione blurted out, willing the blur of tears to disappear, to just _go away_. "Oh, Ginny, it's all me! Don't you see it? He's just like he was at Hogwarts. His reputation was hardly a secret. Everybody knew what he was like."

"What are you talking about?" Ginny asked exasperatedly.

"He wants a witch!" Hermione cried. "He wants a witch and he can't get one. I'm the closest thing he has right now. He's surrounded by Muggles and heaven forbid he should ever sink _that _low. I'm nothing but the next best thing. He just wants-"

"Sex." Ginny finished for her with a raised eyebrow. "You really believe that?"

"Why else would he be interested in me?"

"For the same reason my brother was. The same reason McClaggen was, the same reason Krum was, the same reason Fletch is right now." She was ticking them off on her fingers, giving Hermione a look of pure determination. "You're quite the catch, you know. It's not surprising that Malfoy's beginning to realize it when you've been trapped in that house together all this time."

"I don't know, Gin. He's clever. He's a rich, spoiled, only child who, all his life, has gotten whatever he wants, whenever he's wanted it. He knows what he's doing."

"Well, look at it this way," She began. "Why would he? He has too much to lose. His family is in enough trouble already, without him screwing you over. If word got out that he'd used you for nothing more than sex, he'd be shunned from Wizarding Britain faster than a snitch in a Quidditch game. You have to remember, you're not just anybody. You're Hermione Granger. You helped save the Wizarding World, to defeat Voldemort himself. People love you. They do not, however, love Draco Malfoy."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that as long as Malfoy wants a Wizarding World to come home to, he's not going to be thick enough to mess you around."

Maybe Ginny was right, but it didn't quench the knot of doubt that had settled into her stomach. She didn't resent Draco any more. Although, she didn't trust him either. He had wrecked enough havoc during their Hogwarts years to give her reason to be wary, even now.

And then there was Fletch.

"Oh, Fletch." Hermione groaned, head falling into her palms for the nth time that day. "He's going to hate me!"

"You mean you're still going out with him?" Ginny gasped.

"I didn't plan for this to happen! I never would have agreed to date him if I knew that living with Malfoy would turn out to be this difficult!"

"You need to tell him."

"I can't." She whined. "I can't, Gin. It would break his heart! He thinks the world of me, he really does! Besides, it's not as if I'm planning a repeat performance. It was a mistake. A horrible mistake that I'm sure we _both_ regret."

"Hermione, you're practically two timing the guy!"

"It's not like that!" Hermione said adamantly. "The way you say it makes it sound sordid and dirty. I was upset over my mum and dad and he was just being Draco and it just happened. It was an innocent form of comfort."

"Did he try to sleep with you?"

"_What?_"

"You may not have done it, I know, but did he try?"

"No." Hermione scoffed. "We kissed, we ate Chinese, I used up a box of Kleenex and he told me to go to bed. My _own_ bed, to clarify."

"And what about Fletch? Have you kissed him?"

"Never. We're scarcely dating. We've had two lunches together, Gin. I'm hardly cheating on him!" Hermione explained. "But, I still feel awful. I should like him more. Merlin, I should love him. I shouldn't be looking twice at the likes of Draco, but I am and I don't know why. Because he's horrid and Fletch is wonderful and honest and genuine and-"

"Boring."

"_No!_" She growled. "He's perfect. And so very like myself."

"Maybe that's it, then. Maybe you're just a bit _too_ similar. I mean, you wouldn't go out with your reflection, would you? Well, unless you're Malfoy-"

Hermione glared at her little dig, but motioned for her to continue nonetheless.

"What I'm saying is that if you're so alike, then it simply will not work. There'll be no surprises. You'll see everything coming. And it _will_ be boring, no matter how much you deny it."

"And Draco?"

"Is the complete opposite." Ginny shrugged. "And maybe that's why it works."

* * *

><p>It was late by the time Hermione arrived home. A new case had come through less than five minutes before she was due to leave, meaning she had to work three hour's overtime.<p>

Great.

Now it looked as if she was avoiding him on purpose. And she'd be damned if she was going to let him think he was being the bigger person in this particular battle. Especially after he had dismissed her the way he had that morning.

Throwing her coat and bag onto the kitchen table, she decided to swallow her pride and look for him. It didn't take her long. He was sat on the living room couch in front of the fire, the faux fur throw draped over his legs and a newspaper in hand. It was surprisingly cold for a June night. But then again, she supposed Britain had always had temperamental weather.

"How long have you been interested in the Muggle economy?" She asked, gesturing to the copy of the Financial Times he was currently skimming through.

"Since you alohomora'd the library door and I couldn't find anything else to do." He glowered, throwing the paper down onto the coffee table. "Where were you? It's been boring as fuck here today."

"I had to work late. You know how the Ministry is."

Draco gave a short, humourless laugh at this and Hermione chewed on her bottom lip as she thought of what to sat next. The tension emanating from him was almost palpable and she simply could not ignore it. She decided it would probably be best to just come out with it. She was no Slytherin. There would be no tactics to their conversation tonight.

"Are we going to talk about last night?" She asked, willing the heat in her cheeks to die down.

"No."

"Why?"

"Because I don't feel like it."

"I don't care whether you feel like it or not, Malfoy. You can't just shrug something like that off-"

"It was a kiss, Granger!" He snapped, meeting her hard stare for hard stare. "It's not as if I gave you a fucking kidney. Drop it, alright?"

"No, I won't just drop it." She insisted, folding her arms and raising her chin in defiance. "We can't keep doing this, Draco! It's not as if it was out of the blue. If Ron hadn't walked in that day, you know it would have happened sooner! I want to know why."

"If you think I'm going to tell you that I've been secretly in love with you since first year, then you're sorely mistaken, Granger. I'm not some bleeding heart Gryffindor and I'm not going to start chatting to you about my fucking _feelings_. A kiss is a kiss. Nothing more. So, leave it."

"No!" Hermione huffed. "It wasn't nothing! If it was nothing, it wouldn't have almost happened the day Harry was taken to hospital, it wouldn't have happened again last night. It wouldn't have happened at all!"

"Fucking drop it, Granger. Seriously."

"Why? Because it's the truth?"

He didn't shout at her like she had expected him to. He sat up and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger like he always did when he was tired and frustrated, and let out a long sigh. When he looked at her, she almost wished that he _had_ decided to shout at her. She knew how to handle an angry Malfoy. This one was new, unfamiliar territory. It scared her.

"Just leave me be."

And with that parting gesture, he swept out of the room.


End file.
